


Turn the World to Gold

by superhoney, teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Background Polyamory, Consultant Castiel, Dean/Cas Pinefest, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fewer Mining Details Than You Might Expect, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Miner Dean, Minor Abaddon/Amara, Minor Abaddon/Amara/Meg Masters, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Miscommunication, Past minor character death, Phone Sex, Secret Relationship, Sex Before Feelings, Sexting, Switching, Workplace Relationship, emotional pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: Just as Dean is starting to get comfortable at his new mining job in Nevada, the site is shaken by the announcement of a six-week visit from a team of consultants hired to make changes to the practices and procedures of the mine. Among that team is Castiel Novak, one of the most coolly infuriating, stuck-up, unfairly attractive men Dean has ever met.The friction between them comes to a head during an unexpected but scorching hot makeout session at a company picnic, and they soon fall into a pattern of hooking up at the site or after work at Castiel’s hotel. But it’s just sex, or so they keep telling themselves. Castiel is only in Nevada for six weeks. They’ll have their fun, and then it’ll be over. But as those six weeks go by and they gradually get to know each other, both of them find themselves wondering if there might be a chance it could become something more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! This story was born of a ridiculous conversation during last year's Pinefest chat, and now we're finally sharing it with you all. 
> 
> Thank you to our artist, Cass aka [thevioletcaptain](http://thevioletcaptain.tumblr.com/), who went so far above and beyond the challenge requirements and made so many beautiful pieces! We are stunned and eternally appreciative. Please check out the [art masterpost here](http://thevioletcaptain.tumblr.com/post/171749972188/turn-the-world-to-gold-by-teacass-superhoney) and leave her some love. 
> 
> Thank you to our beta, [A_Diamond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond), for not running screaming when we adjusted the projected wordcount from 50k to 60k to 65k to okay, we think we can keep it under 75? Your feedback and suggestions were utterly invaluable, as was all your support and encouragement along the way. Thank you also to the Growlery and the Unicorn Paddock for their support and love all the way through this project. 
> 
> And thank you to the challenge mods, for running this awesome celebration of pining once again.

Dean is pouring coffee into a plain black mug, property of Spring Mountains Mining Corporation, when a hand clasps his shoulder and turns him around.

“Mr. Winchester,” Crowley says. “I want you to meet one of your new co-workers.”

Dean puts down the mug and looks at the tall and burly man standing beside Crowley. He’s wearing a tight white t-shirt and a wide smile and immediately thrusts a hand in Dean’s direction.

“Benny Lafitte,” he says. His voice is deep and friendly. “Welcome to the team.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean greets as they shake hands. “I’m excited to meet all of you.”

“Let’s not waste time, then,” Benny says with a smile. “They’re already on the site. What do you say we gear you up and go meet everyone?”

“I say lead the way.” Dean has been thinking about his first meeting with his new co-workers for what seems like ages now, but he couldn’t have imagined a smoother interaction. He spoke with Crowley when he arrived earlier and he seemed all right, despite a few weird comments — but it’s his team that will matter to him the most. If he’s going to spend hours upon hours with someone deep underground, he’d rather it was with someone he likes and knows he can trust. 

“Awesome,” the man says and clasps Dean on the shoulder, pointing the way with his other hand. “Let’s go, then.”

Dean grins, nods, and follows him, leaving Crowley with his unfinished cup of coffee. 

“So,” Benny says as they walk out of the mess hall and into the open camp. The sun is already up, slowly rising above the horizon, and even despite the early hour, Dean can already feel the summer heat gathering on his skin. “I heard you used to work in Colorado.”

“Yup. Spent almost two years there. Had an apartment and everything.”

Benny grunts sympathetically. “Sounds uncool. I’m sorry you were let go, but also not, because now you’re gonna work here with us.” Benny sends him a curious look, as if checking what his reaction will be, but Dean only shakes his head and smiles. 

“That’s fine. I mean, I didn’t mind working there, but to be honest, I actually prefer Nevada to Colorado. I have a brother in Cali, and it’s gonna be much easier to just drive down and pop over for a visit.”

“Plus, not to brag or anything, but our team is the best team,” Benny says with a casual shrug and a wide smile that brightens his tanned and handsome face. Dean can’t help but smile back.

“I’m very happy to hear it,” Dean says. “I am gonna spend pretty much all my time with you, after all.”

Benny chuckles, and soon they reach a storage container. Benny passes him a light vest, a pair of gloves, and a hard hat, and waves a hand at the uniforms hanging nearby. 

“We’re all staying outside for now, and today, you’re only gonna stand by and look pretty,” Benny says with a grin. Dean raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything. “Oh, and watch and learn, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Dean says. “So, what're you doing outside?”

Benny delves into explaining all of the preparatory work they’ve been doing before they start digging, and Dean listens carefully, quite pleased with himself when he manages to understand mostly everything. He’s been a little worried the new and old mine would differ greatly and that he’d have to start everything from scratch, but it doesn’t seem to be the case. When they go out again and Dean sees some of the machinery people are working with, he relaxes even further. He can do it. He’s good at this job, and he knows his way around the mines. It’s not perfect, and it’s not a dream job, obviously, but he’s been listening to the stories about mining since he was a kid, what with his father being a miner and all. It’s what he’s been doing for the last few years — it’s what he knows best. 

When they finally reach his new team leader, Cesar, as well as the rest of the team, and Dean is greeted with excited words and friendly smiles, Dean knows he’s going to be okay.

***

After lunch, Dean convinces Cesar he’s ready to put on a uniform and join everyone in real work, especially since they’re mostly just doing check-ups on the machinery and preparing to open up a new tunnel — which won’t happen until at least next week, anyway. Cesar seems pleased and agrees, and soon they all go back to work.

Their team is small and seems weirdly close-knit, considering the variety of people that it consists of. Apart from Cesar, who seems to be a good-humoured and open leader, and Benny, who seems really friendly, Dean also gets to know Victor and Max, as well as Jo, Amara, and Abby. Jo immediately warns him not to make any jokes about women working as miners, and Dean laughs and tells her about Billie, who worked with him in Colorado and sometimes did twice as much as the men around her. 

“Good,” Jo says, looking up at him with a threatening frown. She doesn’t even reach Dean’s shoulder but Dean knows better than to judge her based only on her appearance. “Also, I’m a year older than Max so you don’t get to call me ‘kid’, like, ever.”

She shoots a dangerous glance Victor’s way, who only shakes his head and laughs.

“It was one time,” he says. He looks a bit more like a typical miner: tall as hell and muscular, the light t-shirt he’s wearing beneath his uniform doing nothing to hide his huge biceps. Dean stares, just for a few seconds, and then grins at him.

“It was more than one time,” Jo says, all righteous fury.

“Two times, then. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Joanna.”

Victor tries to pat her head, and Jo hisses like a furious animal and jabs him with her elbow. Victor seems unaffected, but moves away at a safe distance.

“Don’t you even dare call me Joanna,” she growls at Dean, throws one last angry look at Victor, and stomps away.

“And here I was, telling Dean about how our team is so amazing,” Benny says with a theatrical sigh. “Don’t ruin this for me, guys.”

“Nothing’s ruined,” Dean says with a grin. “I’m learning a lot.”

They all watch as Victor casually strolls over to where Jo is poring over some blueprint and begins another conversation. Miraculously, Jo doesn’t start punching him as soon as she notices him.

“Yeah, Vic’s the only one who can piss her off so much,” Max says with a wide grin, “but he’s also the one that can get her to calm down. Usually, we don’t interfere.”

Dean nods. Working in such a close-knit team has to result in at least some kind of fighting and flirting, no matter how serious. He’s not the one to condemn anyone for such behaviour; hell, he’s already flirted with Benny, and it doesn’t mean absolutely anything. It’s just the way it is.

He tries not to think about the looks both Abby and Amara kept sending him during lunch — as if they wanted to eat him alive. He hopes it stays innocent enough because so far, the team looks very much like his kind of thing. 

They get to actual work some time later, for now focusing mostly on maintenance of the machines they’re going to use soon. They chat casually, and Dean is happy to share the story of how his old mine got sold to another company and had to let go of quite a number of its employees, Dean included. He learns Cesar’s husband grew up in Colorado, and discovers that Amara has a brother in California, just like Dean. 

“Changes don’t have to be bad,” Cesar says with a shrug. “Who knows, maybe you’ll like it better here.”

“As long as our dear consultants don’t decide to ruin everything for us, sure,” Abby says.

“Ruin everything?” Dean asks curiously.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Max pats the side of the truck he’s working on. “We’re all gonna go through some changes, very soon.”

“We don’t know what’s going to happen, guys,” Benny says. “It may turn out pretty well.”

“Yeah,” Abby snarks. “Do you actually believe that? They know nothing about our work, and now they want to come here and control us?”

“They do know _something_ , I’m sure,” Cesar says with raised brows. “About how to run companies, at least.”

“Yeah, but I know what she means,” Max says. “They don’t know how it is here, down in the dust and the dirt.”

“And they don’t have to,” Cesar says. “That’s why we’re here, and why we get our money.”

Dean turns to Benny. “So what’s going to happen? Because now I’m a little confused.”

“The consulting company’s sending a few of their guys down here,” Benny explains. “As always, everyone is always concerned with the environment, and they say they have a few ideas on how to be more environmentally-friendly, even in our line of work.”

“What, like new machines or something?”

“Probably. We don’t know exactly, and I think they’re only going to test their ideas themselves, to see how it works out in real life.”

“They know nothing,” Abby scoffs.

“You know that’s not entirely true,” Amara murmurs and nudges her with her elbow. 

“To sum up,” Benny says and sends Dean an encouraging smile, “you’ve arrived at an interesting time, Dean.”

***

By the time Dean’s shift ends and he parks his car in front of his new house, he’s dead on his feet but still manages to dial Sam’s number and open the front door at the same time — which is, in his opinion, quite impressive, considering he has just spent twelve hours working.

“Hi Dean! How was your first day?” Sam’s voice greets him.

Sometimes Dean thinks it’s a bit sad the only person he can call and talk about his day with is his younger brother, but that’s what you get when you live alone and are unable to maintain a healthy, stable relationship with anyone for more than a week or two. Also, he’s learned to live with it. And anyway, his line of work isn't exactly a standard nine-to-five and he has no idea how people with families deal with it — usually, he works for two weeks, non-stop, only to have one short week off, which he mostly uses for sleeping anyway.

Right now, the only thing he can think of is a hot shower and bed, but he promised to talk to Sam. He guesses he can spare five minutes.

“It was fine,” he says, only a little bit surprised it’s true. It’s not that he doesn’t like his job — it’s just that he’s never been particularly enthusiastic about it, and Sam knows it. 

“Fine,” he repeats, doubtfully.

“Yeah.” Dean kicks off his shoes and shuffles towards the kitchen to drop off the car keys and his duffle bag there. “I mean it, Sam. I met the team and learned about the job. I promise no one was too mean to me.”

“Ha, ha,” Sam says. “Maybe they should’ve been.”

“We’ll see what happens tomorrow, but don’t get your hopes up,” Dean jokes. He peers inside the small fridge in the corner of the kitchen and makes a mental note to buy some frozen food and alcohol tomorrow after work — he only has one more pizza and a six pack of beer left.

“And how’s the house?” Sam asks, the little snoop that he is.

“The house is fine,” Dean sighs. He closes the fridge, turns off the light in the kitchen, and stomps towards the bathroom.

“Have you unpacked everything? If you need any help, I guess I could come and visit…”

“Nah,” Dean says and eyes the untouched boxes pushed up against the bathroom wall. They’re probably full of clothes he doesn’t even need now. No big deal. “I’m okay, Sammy.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, which Dean uses to take off his socks and unbuckle his pants. 

“Listen, I need to be up in, like, ten hours, and I’m beat,” Dean says, squeezing the phone in between his ear and shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says. “You can call me anytime.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Thanks, Sam.”

Dean swears he can hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “No problem, Dean. Good night!”

He hangs up, and Dean tosses the phone on the (still mostly empty) cabinet, finishes taking off his clothes, and jumps into the shower. He adds yet another item to his mental shopping list (new shampoo, maybe something less fruity this time), then curses when he notices his shower drain clogging. Another thing to do in his almost nonexistent free time. By the time he’s washed and dressed in a sleep-soft t-shirt and a pair of boxers, he’s yawning so wide he’s afraid he’s gonna hurt his jaw.

It’s barely eight in the evening when he steps into the bedroom on the other side of the corridor and crawls into his bed. It’s king-sized and takes up almost the entire bedroom, but at least he can stretch as wide as he wants and there’s no one that will tell him off for hogging the covers. There are days he misses sleeping next to someone, but mostly, he’s glad. He’s used to being on his own.

He spends ten minutes browsing the internet on his phone, but soon his eyes get tired and he gives up. It’s only the first day, he convinces himself. He’s had almost an entire month off after they kicked him out of the old job, so it’s understandable that he’s this exhausted after an entire day of work. He knows he’ll get used to the busy schedule soon enough. It’s the only way, after all, isn’t it?

With that thought in mind, Dean sets up three different alarms, plugs his phone in to charge it, and buries himself in between the covers. 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel pulls at the collar of his formerly crisp white dress shirt, now stuck to his neck with sweat. He knew the desert heat would be different than anything he had experienced in New York, but he never expected it to be quite this bad. 

“I told you to lose the jacket,” Meg says, entirely unsympathetic and looking pristine as ever in a lightweight linen dress, her dark hair still smooth and elegant. “But no, you were too worried about _looking professional_.”

“A professional appearance is very important,” Castiel protests weakly. He knows she’s right, but he hates to admit it. 

“Here,” Balthazar says, handing him a handkerchief. “Wipe your face down a bit. Can’t let them see you sweat.”

“You are an excellent assistant, have I mentioned that lately?” Castiel gratefully takes the handkerchief and passes it over his face, then hands it back to Balthazar, who curls his lips up in distaste but tucks it back into his bag.

“Ready?” Hannah asks, looking up from her phone. “Mr. Crowley is on his way to begin our tour.”

Castiel takes a deep breath, gathering himself. He’s faced down boardrooms of disinterested executives, group interviews where he was the youngest and least qualified candidate, and performance reviews with some of the most intimidating of his superiors at Liberty Executive Solutions.

Surely he can handle a tour of a mining facility without losing his composure.

It’s not really about the tour, though. It’s about what it means. For the company, it’s a highly lucrative account, and a step towards future contracts with other mining corporations. And for Castiel, it means a chance at the promotion he’s been working towards for years.

Before he, Meg, Hannah, and Balthazar left for this six-week trip to Nevada, Mr. Adler pulled Castiel aside and gave him a rather impressive speech about what it could mean for his future at Liberty. “Big things,” he promised. “Big things, Castiel.”

This trip is a test. Castiel knows the senior management team will be carefully reviewing their performance here, and he’s determined to make a positive impression. 

“And here’s Mr. Crowley now,” Hannah mutters, straightening up and tucking her hair behind her ears. She greets him with a firm handshake and introduces him to the rest of the team. 

“And Castiel Novak, Project Manager,” she finishes.

“A pleasure to have you all here,” says Crowley smoothly. “Are you ready to have a look at the site?”

“Please,” Meg says. Her smile is sharp. “That’s what we’re here for, after all.”

Crowley gives her a displeased look, and Balthazar and Castiel exchange smirks. Meg is combative by nature, but she’s good at her job. Castiel is pleased that she was selected to accompany him on this trip.

“Right. This way, if you please.” Crowley leads them out of the small on-site office building and into the mine itself. The air is still heavy, but at least they’re out from under the heat of the sun. Castiel is able to pay better attention as Crowley points out various features of the mine, things Castiel is familiar with from his research but has never seen in practice until now.

Hannah and Balthazar are both taking copious notes, so Castiel and Meg focus on what Crowley is telling them, occasionally interrupting to ask questions or seek clarification. Crowley is in the middle of explaining some obscure piece of the mine’s history when a group of workers appear at the other end of the tunnel, distracting Castiel.

They seem just as interested in Castiel and his companions as he is in them, judging by their curious glances as they approach. As they get closer, the tall, well-built man in the centre of the group removes his helmet and runs one hand through his light brown hair, eyes flicking over to Castiel as he does.

Castiel nearly stumbles over his own feet. Even in the dim light of the tunnel, the man’s eyes are a stunning shade of green. 

And they’re also filled with a depth of scorn Castiel is surprised at, considering they’ve never met.

After the workers have passed by, Castiel turns to Crowley before he can resume the tour. “Excuse me,” he says. “I couldn’t help but notice some rather unfriendly looks from the group that just passed us.”

Crowley sighs. “We tried to keep your visit a secret,” he says, apologetic. “But you know how word travels, especially in a small group like this. Many of our employees don’t handle change very well, and they’re none too pleased about what your visit heralds.”

“They don’t even know what we’re here for,” Meg points out.

“No,” Crowley says, shaking his head. “But they will after your presentation this afternoon.”

“Should we expect that sort of frosty reception from everyone?” Hannah asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” Meg says before Crowley can reply. “This is a good thing we’re here to do. A good change.”

“Indeed.” Crowley doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “However, I would stress that no matter what new changes you propose making to this place, our workers will still be here. You may need to focus your efforts on charming them, rather than simply telling them how things are going to go.”

“I can be charming,” Balthazar says with a leer. Meg elbows him sharply in the side.

“Indeed,” Crowley says again. “Shall we continue?”

Castiel pores over Crowley’s words as they finish viewing the rest of the site. He didn’t anticipate any resistance to their presence here, or to the proposed changes in operations. He assumed, perhaps naively, that any effort towards making mining a more environmentally-friendly industry would be met with a warm reception. But as he realizes now, he was basing that assumption on the comments he received from people he knows back in New York, people who have never actually worked in a mine or visited one in person.

People like himself.

He’ll just have to adjust his presentation, he supposes. He’s dealt with hostile crowds before. There’s too much riding on the success of this trip for it to be ruined by a bunch of surly miners, even if they are distractingly attractive.

***

Hannah had quietly suggested eating lunch in the canteen with the workers in an effort to make themselves seem approachable, but she was immediately shot down by Balthazar, Meg, and Crowley, the latter two looking surprised to be in agreement about anything. So after a quick and rather awkward lunch in Crowley’s office, they make their way down to the canteen, which is the only space that can accommodate all the workers at once.

There are an awful lot of them, Castiel realizes, looking around the room. They all seem comfortable and familiar with one another, squeezed onto the benches and chairs, equipment lying by their feet as they joke and laugh, conversations flowing too quickly for him to catch what they’re saying.

“How are you feeling, Clarence?” Meg asks quietly. “You ready for this?”

“Of course,” he replies with more confidence than he feels. He adjusts his tie, but only succeeds in making it more tangled than it was before. Laughing, Meg brushes his hands aside and fixes it for him, then gives him a critical look.

“Good enough,” she proclaims. “Now go up there and be your most charming self.”

Balthazar is already setting up the projector for the presentation they prepared before leaving New York, and Crowley offers Castiel a microphone, but he declines it with a shake of his head. He dislikes the amplified sound of his own voice and prefers to do his best to project it naturally. Maybe it will create a sense of connection with his audience.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Balthazar mutters as he steps out of the way.

“Your attention, please!” Crowley calls out into the crowd, who mostly ignore him. Castiel’s nervousness grows as he watches the way the miners barely look up at the sound of Crowley’s voice.

“I said, your attention, please!” Crowley repeats, louder this time, and eventually, the crowd quiets. “Thank you. Now, please join me in welcoming our visitors from Liberty Executive Solutions, who have come a very long way to join us today. They will be staying with us for the next six weeks, and here to tell you more about the purpose of their visit is Castiel Novak, one of their project managers.”

Taking a deep breath, Castiel steps forward and looks out into the crowd. He scans the faces, looking for signs of open hostility, and is dispirited at the number of scowls he sees, the number of tight mouths and frowns. 

“Good afternoon,” he says, and at least he manages to keep his voice steady. “As Mr. Crowley mentioned, my name is Castiel Novak, and it’s my honour and my pleasure to join you today to discuss the future of this site.”

“As I’m sure you’re all aware,” he continues, “technology is moving faster than it ever has before, and in an effort to keep up with recent developments, we will be looking into bringing in new machinery that will not only increase efficiency but also significantly lessen the environmental impact of the work done here. A mine, however, is more than its machines, and to that end, we also plan to study things like schedules, workloads, team sizes, and structures of command, in order to maximize the potential of each and every one of you here.”

The more he talks, the more grumbling Castiel hears from the miners. He catches a number of dark looks passing between them, people leaning over to whisper in each other’s ears, and the occasional scoff or sigh of displeasure. But he forges on until he reaches the last slide of his presentation, then lets out a long breath.

“So as you can see, we at Liberty Executive Solutions are committed to always looking to the future of both your company and our planet,” he concludes. “Thank you for your time. Now...” He pauses, looking out over the crowd. “Are there any questions?”

Hands spring up all around the room and Castiel winces. He should have expected this. He casts a pleading look at Meg, who comes to join him at the front of the room. “Yes?” she says, pointing to a tall woman near the back of the room.

“Why now?” the woman asks bluntly. “We’ve never had a visit from consultants before.”

“I believe that question would be best directed to your own corporate office,” Meg says smoothly. “We were offered a contract, and we took it. Now we’re here to hold up our side of it. We’ve done our research, which this visit is part of, and we truly believe that with these changes, including the new machinery, we can optimize performance for all of you.”

“Right,” says a disbelieving voice from the far corner of the room. “And this new piece of technology just _suddenly appeared_ on the market?”

The speakers stands, and Castiel’s heart gives a strange flutter in his chest as he realizes it’s the green-eyed man they encountered down in the mine that morning.

“We haven’t heard of this before,” he continues, “and now you want to just start using it within the next few months? Where are your sources? Your test data? Have other companies been successful with it?”

“We aim to be the first,” Castiel replies tightly. “This technology will not only increase your output and contribute to increased revenue for the company, it will also have a strong positive impact on your brand’s image, setting you apart from the competition as the only company making these kinds of adjustments.”

“Not good enough. And what do you mean, increase our output? What, us humans can’t do enough to satisfy your greed, going to come replace us with machines and tell everyone it’s all for the good of the environment while you leave hundreds of people without jobs?”

Castiel’s jaw drops and he looks helplessly at Meg as the rumbles from the crowd increase.

“Sir,” he says, but he’s interrupted again.

“I’m no sir. Just Dean.”

“Dean, then. We never said anything about replacing your valued workers with machinery.”

“Sure,” Dean says, still scowling. “You never said it. But that’s sure what it sounded like to me.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the other miners, and Dean looks at Castiel with a disgusted expression, arms crossed over his chest. The pose only serves to emphasize the bulge of his biceps and the breadth of his chest, and Castiel curses him for being such an attractive annoyance.

“I can assure you, we have no plans to cut any jobs from this site,” Meg says. “We’re here to observe, to learn, and to work with you all to ensure the best future for all of us. Not to leave you stranded.”

Dean huffs a laugh, but at least he sits back down, immediately leaning towards the others sitting near him and muttering something Castiel can only assume is highly insulting. 

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

He and Meg answer a few more questions, all of which are more politely-worded than Dean’s, and eventually the number of raised hands decreases. Castiel looks over to Crowley, who nods, indicating that they’ve done their best.

Castiel steps back and accepts the bottle of water Balthazar passes to him, wishing it were something stronger. “I have a flask in my pocket,” Balthazar murmurs, as though he read Castiel’s mind. “But let’s wait until we’re out of sight for that, hmn?”

“Please,” Castiel replies fervently.

“Now that you’ve heard a bit about what our visitors are here for, I hope you’ll be courteous and welcoming to them throughout their time with us,” Crowley is saying. He seems to be directing his words towards the group in the back corner. Towards Dean. “This an exciting adventure we’re all taking together, and I expect to see that reflected in your attitudes over the next six weeks. And now, back to work!”

The crowd disperses quickly. Castiel thinks he sees Dean look back over his shoulder at him, but then he’s swept away out the door and lost to his sight.

“Well,” Balthazar says brightly, “that went well.”

“It went horribly,” Hannah corrects him, a frown on her face. “They don’t want us here, they don’t want to listen to what we have to say, they aren’t going to treat us with anything other than suspicion.”

“Aren’t you an optimist,” Crowley notes. “However, I think you’re correct. You’re all going to have to go on a full-scale charm offensive. They’re a surly lot, this group, but if you can get on their good side, they’re fiercely loyal and protective.”

“You make them sound like bad-tempered dogs,” Meg says. 

Crowley shrugs. “I’ve known some bad-tempered dogs in my time. Believe me when I tell you, they’re easier to handle.”

With a lazy wave, he leaves the canteen, Castiel and his colleagues staring after him. They all turn to look at Castiel, who clears his throat awkwardly and slumps into a vacant chair.

“We have work to do,” he says.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, Dean all but throws himself into work. 

It’s quite easy, too — the working hours are awfully long and exhausting, and he barely has any energy left to heat up a frozen pizza when he comes back home, let alone do anything else. His days begin before dawn and end only a little after sunset, and even though he feels like all he’s doing nowadays is sleep and work at the mine, he’s okay with that.

At least he doesn’t have time to think too much.

Even after the first hours at the mine, he could already tell he was going to fit in pretty well with his new team. Even deep in the ground, they keep him distracted and occupied at all time, whether by cracking jokes, complaining about everything that came to mind, or gossiping. 

He’s man enough to admit all of them do gossip a _hell_ of a lot.

Especially nowadays.

“I _swear_ I saw Mr. Fancypants sneak around with a full fucking bottle of booze,” Max says from where he’s perched on top of the truck they’ve just used to shove out some of the debris. “I mean, it’s like they’re not even pretending.”

“Wait, which one’s Mr. Fancypants?” Dean squints.

“They both are,” Max says. “But I mean the posh British one, this time.”

“Oh, that _prick_ ,” Amara scoffs. “I don’t think he even knows what we’re doing here. I stumbled upon him yesterday in the canteen and he asked how much coal a year we get. _Coal_ , guys.”

“Pretty sure he was just screwing with you, darling,” Abby drawls with a grin. “But still. Doesn’t seem fair they just get to ramble around drinking while we sweat down here.”

“It’s their job,” Jo says with a shrug. “And this is ours.”

“It’s their job to get drunk in the middle of the day?” Victor laughs. “Wow, I want it. How do I get to their level?”

Jo punches him in the arm, but he doesn’t look as if he feels anything. “They don’t get drunk,” she says. “Well, not all the time, at least.”

“Not while we see them,” Victor jokes. “Who knows what happens after hours.”

“Actually,” Dean muses, “I’ve seen the other guy, you know, the one who gave the presentation?”

“The one you freaking destroyed, man!” Max calls down from the truck.

“That,” Abby says with a smirk, “was glorious, Winchester.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean laughs. “Not my point, though. What I meant to say was, I’ve actually seen him around a few times and he always looked like he was working. You know, _really_ working. Making notes and all that.”

“Yeah,” Victor snarks. “Such a hard work.”

“At least he wasn’t creeping around with a bottle,” Benny points out. “I saw him yesterday, too. I think he actually went down with Alistair’s team, asked them questions and all.”

“Wait, he actually went into the tunnel with them?” Dean asks. 

Benny nods. “Yup. Didn’t see him get out, though, so I don’t know how that particular adventure ended.”

“I did,” Abby says with a glint in her eye. “Came out all sweaty and dirty. Definitely didn’t look like someone who’s used to stuff like that.”

“No one is, not really,” Max says.

He says something else, too, but Dean doesn’t hear it, too deep in thought about the dark-haired, strong-jawed consultant that pissed him off during the presentation and hasn’t stopped doing so ever since, mostly by merely existing. Dean has had a few run-ins with him during the last few days, too, but he doesn’t especially feels like sharing that with the team. Mostly because there’s nothing to say, really — they just glared at each other a lot, or at least Dean did, and didn’t exchange even one word — but also because he still feels weird talking about the guy. He’s still not sure how to feel about his antics during the presentation. Usually, he’s not the one to get all righteous in front of so many people, especially when he’s new around them as well, but something about the guy just… made him raise his voice and do it. Maybe it was the stiff way he carried himself, or the way his dark hair seemed to be sticking in every direction, as if he’d been combing his fingers through it all the time, or maybe it was the dispassionate, bored way he spoke about the changes at the mine. Like he honestly didn’t care about anything that was supposed to happen around him.

Needless to say, it riled Dean up. He has to deal with the consequences now — which means being pat on the back by his colleagues and getting silent treatment from the guy — from _Castiel Novak_ , or whatever his name was. 

Dean nearly scoffs. _Castiel_. So pretentious.

“Alright, guys.” Cesar comes up to them, clapping his hands. “Break’s over, let’s get back to work.”

A few people grumble, but they all comply, pulling their gloves and vests and helmets back on and going back to their respective tasks. Dean only manages to take a few steps before Cesar’s voice stops him.

“Ah, almost forgot. Abby, Dean, a word, please.”

Dean sends a frown Abby’s way, but follows Cesar to the side and stares at him, expectantly. 

“So, remember how I told you how our guests are going to supervise us to get more knowledge about how we work now?” Cesar asks. When both Dean and Abby nod uncertainly, Cesar continues. “Step one is a shadowing session that I’ve chosen both of you to be a part of. Abby, you’re going to work with the haul truck, and you’ll be watched by Meg Masters.”

“The small one?” Abby asks, raising a brow.

“Exactly. She’s gonna ask you questions and observe how you work. Now, Dean.” Cesar turns to him with a grin. “The drill is yours.”

Dean stands up straighter. “Finally,” he says with an answering smile. He’s wanted to use the pneumatic hand drill since the day he started working here, and it seems it’s finally going to happen. 

“Yup,” Cesar says. “And you’re gonna work with Castiel Novak.”

Fuck.

Dean should’ve known there would be a catch.

“Really?” he groans. “Can’t I get Masters?”

Cesar sends him a look, but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just,” Dean says, “you remember the presentation. We don’t exactly like each other, you know.”

“You don’t know him,” Cesar says. “And he doesn’t know you. Anyway, you’re both grown men, you’re gonna be fine. It’s only two hours.”

“Two hours,” Abby purrs. She seems quite satisfied. “Sounds good to me.”

Without saying anything else, she stalks off, leaving Dean and Cesar alone.

“Cesar, come on,” Dean mutters. “At least give me the British dude. He seems more fun.”

“No, Dean,” Cesar says. “Balthazar is just an assistant, he doesn’t have the authority.”

“Look,” Dean says. “I know I’m the new guy, but I thought you liked me.” He’s only half joking.

“I’m not doing this out of spite,” Cesar says with a smile. “Just do your job and everything’ll be fine. I’m sure Novak isn't even going to mention your… discussion.”

“It’s not even that,” Dean scoffs. “He just seems so fucking boring.”

Cesar snorts before he can stop himself. “You don’t know that. And anyway, it doesn't even matter. You’re gonna show him everything you know, answer his questions, and that’s it. You don’t need to get along.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever. Just… remember I warned you, if anything goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Cesar says and pats Dean on the back. “As long as you behave.”

***

That day, after lunch, when Dean goes to retrieve the drill, he finds Castiel Novak waiting for him by the storage unit. Dean tries not to gape too much, but it’s hard — Novak is basically blocking the door to the storage unit, and he’s looking all perfect and dapper in his crisp white dress shirt and dark navy suit pants. At least he got rid of the ugly brown coat Dean saw him wearing that first day down in the mine — and that well-fitted suit jacket from the presentation, the one that looked so out of place around here.

“Mr. Winchester,” Novak says, sounding dull. “You’re late.”

Dean stops and stares at him. “I’m not.”

Novak pushes up the sleeve of his perfect white shirt and looks down at the watch he’s wearing on his wrist. “Yes, you are. Your lunch break ended over five minutes ago.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. “It takes a while to go from the canteen back here, though, you know.”

Novak tilts his head sideways, brows knitted together as he stares straight at Dean — who refuses to get flustered over his intense gaze.

“In that case, you should always take that into consideration,” he says solemnly, “and finish your lunch earlier so that you can be here on time.”

Dean baulks. “Are you kidding me? So what, am I supposed to cut my break short just because the site is so fu—so damn huge? It’s not my fault, you know,” Dean mutters angrily.

Novak nods. “That is to be expected, yes,” he says, looking at Dean through narrowed eyes, “from a _good employee_ , at least.”

_Honestly, fuck this dude_ , Dean thinks, but refuses to show how angry Novak is able to make him with just a few words and an authoritative spark in his blue eyes. Neither of them says anything, and Dean turns his back on Novak and goes inside the storage unit to get the drilling machine. It’s big and heavy, and Dean tries very hard not to look like he’s struggling to lift it up and bring it outside without falling down on his face. He can feel Novak’s eyes on him and it only makes the situation worse. And definitely more awkward.

“Do you need help?” Novak asks when Dean nearly tumbles down the two tiny stairs leading from the storage unit. He manages to catch himself just in time and not let the machine fall to the ground, but he still notices Novak’s instinctive hand motion, as if he wanted to catch Dean before he could hit the ground.

Or maybe, he wanted to make sure the machine wouldn’t break. Yes, that’s more likely.

“No,” Dean mutters irritably. Novak steps back, face stony.

“Lead the way, then,” he says.

Dean takes a deep breath, hoists the machine in his arms to get a better grip on it, and starts walking. He doesn’t look back, but he hears Novak’s footsteps following right behind him.

It’s only two hours, he says to himself. It can’t be that bad.

Right?

“You’re not wearing a safety hat,” Novak points out barely ten seconds later.

“I’m aware of that,” Dean says without stopping.

“Hm,” Novak murmurs. “Let me rephrase that, then. Can you please explain to me why you are not wearing a safety hat, Mr. Winchester?”

“I left it on the site when lunch started,” Dean says, annoyed that he has to make excuses for himself. “Also, I told you to call me Dean.”

“Dean,” Novak repeats. Dean really wants to turns back to him and send him a glare — the way he says his name is making something hot and angry bubble up in Dean’s stomach — but he would rather not stumble again. “Is it not in the rules that the workers must wear safety hats at all times?”

“I will,” Dean barks. “Once we get there.”

“So you just left it, unattended, while you went away for your break?”

“Yeah. It’s not like it’s gonna wander off on its own, is it?”

“It’s the company’s property,” Novak says harshly. “You’re obliged to care for it, Dean. What if it got lost?”

“Jesus, we all leave stuff around here and nothing ever gets lost,” Dean snaps. “We’re not _thieves_ , you know.”

Novak hums to himself and his footsteps quiet down. Dean turns back to look at him and notices he stopped to write something down in a small notebook. He must have been keeping it in his pocket because Dean didn’t see it before. He considers asking what he’s writing right now, but decides against it as soon as Novak’s eyes snap up to look at him thoughtfully. Novak stares at him for a second or two, bites down on his lip, and furiously writes a few more words.

Whatever. Dean’s not getting intimidated by some dick’s vicious commentary. He knows damn well how to do his job, and nothing the snooty consultant can say about him will matter in the long run. 

Or at least, he hopes it won’t.

They reach the entry to the tunnel Dean is supposed to work in today. Abby and Meg Masters are already there, chatting by the haul truck. From what Dean can see, they appear to be getting along pretty well, at least considering the way Abby is looking at the small woman — as if she wants to eat her alive, but in a good way. Dean frowns — Abby is going out with Amara, from what he heard — but lets it slide without a comment because he definitely doesn’t want to get mixed up with the two of them. They give him the creeps enough already.

Abby sends Dean a smirk and a lazy wave, but otherwise ignores him. Masters, on the other hand, turns her whole body towards Novak and grins.

“We meet again, handsome,” she drawls.

Dean wishes he could say he’s not interested in Novak’s reaction, but he still can’t resist watching the man’s face as he meets Masters’ gaze. 

“Hello, Meg,” he says, and his voice has gone strangely soft, with a small smile playing on his lips. It’s so different from how he looks when he’s talking to Dean that Dean can’t help but stare a little. “How’s your session going?”

“Ooh, I’m learning _so much_ ,” Masters says, winking. Novak’s face remains impassive.

“Come on,” Abby murmurs. “Let’s leave these two alone and get to work. I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Masters says with a huge grin. She waves at Novak. “Have fun, Clarence!”

Dean frowns, watching the women climb into the truck and slowly back away. Then he turns to Novak.

“Thought your name was something else,” he says before he can stop himself. Why does he even care? He shouldn’t even think about that. 

“It is,” Novak says matter-of-factly. “Meg just likes… fucking with me, as she calls it.”

Dean snorts, then catches himself and falls silent, horrified. Novak sends him a curious look and Dean tries to cover it with a cough, even though he can feel his face redden.

“Okay,” he mutters.

“My actual name is Castiel,” Novak reminds him calmly. He’s still staring at Dean, damn him, and Dean can’t seem to be able to catch his gaze.

“I know,” he says and clears his throat. “Well, then, we should get going too, Castiel. Uh. Can I— call you that?” he asks awkwardly.

_What is wrong with him?_

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says. His voice changes, somehow, sounding a bit more like when he was talking to Meg and a little less like he’s chastising Dean for everything he’s done wrong.

Dean looks up at him and straightens his back. He needs to remember why they’re even here and stop focusing on the sound of Castiel Novak’s voice. This is definitely not the place for that.

“Okay,” Dean says gruffly and nods towards the tunnel. “Follow me.”

At least in the dark, Dean won’t be able to see Novak’s blue eyes silently judging him for everything he does.

***

“Wow, this is boring,” Benny grumbles and bumps Dean’s shoulder with his own. “Got any idea how much longer we have to sit here and pretend to listen?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Dunno. I hope they let us go soon, I’m starving.”

“Yup. Also, open bar.”

“And you said it was a dumb idea.” Dean smirks.

“Yeah, well, you agreed,” Benny says. “Plus, seriously, a _picnic_? Who are we, soccer moms throwing a party for the kids to impress the neighbour?”

Dean chuckles. “No, the bosses are soccer moms. We’re the kids.” When Benny has to stifle his laugh with his hand, Dean adds, “And the execs are the neighbours.”

They both glance at the rows of chairs on the other side of the room they’re in. Compared to their side, the other one is noticeably smaller — and more boring. All of the managers and supervisors, as well as the four consultants at the forefront, are sitting up straight, their faces blank, their clothes impeccable and elegant. Dean notices Crowley sitting beside Balthazar, staring intently at the man giving a speech at the front of the room. On Balthazar’s other side, Dean can see Castiel Novak. The man looks as if he walked out of the cover of some kind of a business magazine, his suit dark blue and hugging his broad shoulders snugly, his hands resting neatly in his lap, shoes shiny, expression indifferent. The only thing that looks out of place is his hair — his dark locks are wild, falling into his eyes and standing up in every direction. Dean lets himself stare for much longer than he should and his fingers tingle, wishing he could try to force the mess on Castiel’s head into something resembling an appropriate hairdo. A person of such importance shouldn’t look as if they just rolled out of bed, should they?

Dean is too busy staring at the back of Castiel’s head to notice when the speaker finishes and gets off the stage. The loud clapping startles Dean, but he wills himself to remain still when Benny sends him a weird look. The applause dies down when Crowley goes up on the stage to announce the official start of the picnic. After that, most of the miners immediately stand up and crowd around the exit, taking Dean with them whether he wants it or not.

Dean can’t stop himself, though, and looks back curiously. Most of the bosses are standing up, as well, but they’re swarming in small groups and chatting instead of immediately rushing for the exit. Castiel is there, too, but he’s standing a little to the side, not taking part in the conversations.

Dean gets squeezed through the doors soon and out into the open air. The picnic was one of the higher-ups’ idea — it’s been a week since the four consultants arrived and they decided it was high time for integration, and what better than a party with food and alcohol to strengthen those bonds? Of course, most of the miners had quite a laugh over it at first. No one believes any kind of real communication can be established between the workers and their employers, no matter how much booze is involved. They’re just two different groups of people and no one feels the need to actually change it.

But, hey, free party. Whatever the reason, the miners aren’t letting such an occasion pass them by.

Dean and his team hang out near the tables with food at first, but soon diffuse all over the place to chat with other people, drink, and have some fun. The picnic takes place at the small park near the site, and it’s quite nice, if Dean has to be honest. The weather’s more than fine, the sun hot and intense even though it’s getting closer to the evening now, and the change of scenery feels amazing. After seeing dust and dirt most of his days, it’s good to hang around something green and alive. He even hears birds.

He’s three beers in when Benny nudges him with his elbow and points to something ahead of them. Dean looks up and notices the group of all four consultants, hanging by the table with drinks. Balthazar is pouring himself a gigantic glass of wine and talking animatedly to Castiel, who’s looking bored and grumpy, his suit jacket unbuttoned and a bottle of beer in his hand. Hannah is trying to talk to one of the miners standing on the other side of the table, but he doesn’t look particularly interested in what she has to say. Meg Masters, though, is looking in their direction.

At first, Dean think she’s looking at him for some reason, but then he realizes she’s actually staring at someone coming her way. 

“Is that Abby and Amara?” Dean asks, uncertain, watching as his colleagues come closer to Masters. “What are they doing?”

“Dunno,” Benny says, and he sounds mildly interested. “Maybe they’re gonna fight.”

“Nah,” Max says, sliding up to them with a drink in his hand. “I think they’re pretty… amicable.”

“What?” Victor asks, appalled. “They’re fraternising with the enemy?”

“Maybe they’re pretending, just to crush Masters afterwards,” Jo muses. “Creating a false sense of security.”

“Hmm,” Dean murmurs. “Abby seemed to get along well with Masters during their shadowing session. At least from what I could see.”

“Maybe the execs aren’t that bad after all,” Max says.

“Impossible.” Victor shakes his head. “They’re predators, and you know it.”

“Guess they found their match,” Jo says as they all watch Abby and Amara strike up a conversation with Meg. No one appears to be shouting or punching anyone, at least for now. “I mean, our girls are pretty fierce.”

“They are, aren’t they,” Max chuckles. “I’m actually pretty curious about all of this.”

Dean feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, and when he pulls it out and looks down at it, he notices Sam’s name on the little screen. He waves the phone at his friends. 

“I need to take this, sorry,” he says and walks away to answer it. 

“Hi, Dean!”

“Hey, Sam,” Dean says. Without thinking, he walks towards the edge of the park, where the trees are growing a little thicker and where he can hear his brother more clearly. “What’s up?”

“So get this.” Sam sounds very enthusiastic and Dean can’t help but smile to himself. “I’m getting a week off next month and we’ve just booked a flight to Hawaii and I’m so excited!”

Dean stops and stares mindlessly at the old tree right in front of him. “We?”

“Yeah, me and Jess. We’re flying out at the beginning of August. How cool is that?”

Dean can feel bitter bile rising up in his throat and he wishes he had more beer with him to wash it away. He tries to mask the feeling when he speaks up again.

“Oh? That sounds great, Sam.”

Sam is quiet for a few seconds, and that’s when Dean knows his brother has already picked up on his mood. Apparently, there’s nothing he can hide from him.

“Is everything okay?” Sam asks, voice small.

Dean clears his throat. “What? Yeah, of course. I’m glad you get to use your free time to fly to Hawaii with your girlfriend.” Before he can stop himself, he blabbers out, “Instead of, you know, visiting your brother, like you’ve been promising for the last few weeks.”

“Dean,” Sam says quietly after a moment of silence. “You know it’s not like that… I can visit you whenever I want now!”

“Oh yeah?” Dean lets out a small laugh. “Funny, ‘cause you still haven’t.”

“You always say you’re fine,” Sam says. He’s starting to sound upset, and Dean doesn’t even feel bad about it. Not now. “Whenever I ask whether you need me to drive up and help you unpack or anything, you always say you’re _fine_. And now you’re getting mad?”

“I’m not mad,” Dean says.

“Yeah, you are,” Sam snaps. “You know I’ve been waiting for ages to finally get some more time off, and that me and Jess have been planning a vacation like that for—”

“Oh yeah, because I don’t have that problem, right?” Dean grouses. “I get days off _all the time_ , right?”

“Dean, you have entire weeks off,” Sam says. “You _could_ go somewhere, you know, you just choose not to because you’re… You know what? Forget it.”

“Because I’m what, Sam? Huh?” Angrily, Dean kicks at an old tree stump and curses silently when it turns out to be very soft and his foot goes right through it. “And you know I get those weeks off because I work two weeks _non-stop_.”

“That’s what you keep telling yourself,” Sam says.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told you, forget it. I just wanted to share the news with you, not have another stupid fight. I’ll call you tomorrow when you’re—”

“No, Sam,” Dean barks. “Tell me now.”

Sam stays quiet for a moment, and Dean is almost sure he’s hung up and has to check the screen, but then Sam speaks up again.

“You don’t think you have anyone to go on vacation with you, so you just… don’t go. Ever. Because apparently it’s better to sulk alone for a week than maybe—”

“Okay,” Dean interrupts. “We’re done. Bye, Sam.”

He hangs up before Sam can say another word. Fuming, Dean stares down at the phone, even considers tossing it into the trees and never using it again. What for, he thinks sullenly, he only talks with Sam anyway, and now apparently Sam thinks he’s a fucking hermit or something, he thinks Dean is miserable and lonely and most definitely a loser who doesn’t have any friends and—

A tree branch snaps behind him and Dean spins around, pushing his phone deep into his pocket.

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

He hears another branch crack and then a person comes out from behind a tree and meets him head on.

It’s Castiel Novak, his slightly pale face clearly visible in the dimness of the trees surrounding them. Dean takes in the state of the man — hair dishevelled, white shirt unbuttoned at his throat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suit jacket nowhere to be seen, blue eyes wide and dark.

“What are you doing here?” Dean snaps.

Castiel frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I asked first,” Dean mutters. “Were you... spying on me?” 

Castiel scowls at him. “You are not that interesting, believe me.”

Dean’s good mood, already ruined by his brother, now disappears completely. “I’m starting to realize that, thanks to all of you.” He takes one threatening step closer to Castiel. “So yeah, thanks for that.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Castiel murmurs, looking away and pressing his hand to his forehead. Dean can’t help but notice how long and elegant his fingers are. “I just needed some space.”

“Okay, go somewhere else, then,” Dean says. “This space is taken.”

Castiel glares at him. “You don’t own these woods, Dean. I have every right to be here.”

Dean looks at the way Castiel is still rubbing at his forehead with his fingers, his entire face scrunched up with pain, and then smirks. He pulls out the phone from his pocket.

“Okay, then, hope you don’t mind me listening to some tunes,” he says, taking a few more steps towards Castiel, and looking up at him innocently. “Wanna join me?”

“That’s not why I'm here,” Castiel says, frowning. “I was actually trying to escape the noise—”

Dean doesn’t let him finish, instead pressing the play button on his phone. He smiles widely when the loud sound of guitars fills the air between them and watches with interest how Castiel grimaces and closes his eyes.

“Do you like Led Zeppelin?” Dean asks.

“Turn that off,” Castiel growls.

“Wait, there’s this one song I think you’re gonna—”

A hand curls over Dean’s fingers and snatches his phone away from him. The music stops.

“Hey!” Dean protests.

“I told you,” Castiel snarls, “to turn it off.” 

Dean watches as Castiel puts the phone into the pocket of his pants, a smug expression on his face. Instead of arguing, he jumps forward, trying to retrieve it by force, and ends up pinning Castiel to the tree behind him.

“Give it back,” Dean snaps.

Castiel looks up into his eyes, unblinking. Their faces are inches apart and Dean can smell his cologne.

“No,” Castiel shoots back. He shoves at Dean’s shoulders. “Move back.”

“Give me back my phone, you asshole,” Dean growls. “Or I’ll take it myself.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “You can try.”

“Don’t test me,” Dean mutters angrily. “Or I swear to god I will kick your ass.”

Dean watches as Castiel’s eyes flick over his face and stop on his lips for a split of second. He swallows, feeling his heart rate pick up, but before he can do anything, Castiel meets his gaze and smirks.

“Will you?” he asks quietly.

Dean’s throat goes dry. He takes in a deep breath and, almost involuntarily, glances down at Castiel’s full, pink lips. 

“Fuck yeah, I will,” he says hoarsely.

That’s when Castiel surges forward and kisses him straight on the mouth.

Dean stumbles back, shocked, and needs a few long seconds to even fully realize what’s going on. When he does, and when Castiel doesn’t move away, their lips still pressed together, Dean growls deep in his throat, catches Castiel’s hips, and shoves him back into the tree, kissing him back with just as much heat.

Castiel pushes at him, his hands coming up and his long fingers sliding up and into Dean’s hair. He pulls on it lightly, bringing Dean’s head even closer and parting his lips with his tongue at the same time. Dean lets out a loud moan and lets him in, hands tightening over Castiel’s hips. Their hips meet and Dean pushes against him enthusiastically, and doesn’t even stop to think about pulling up for air until the back of Castiel’s head smacks against the tree and makes him move away with a painful hiss.

Panting, Dean opens his eyes and stares at Castiel disbelievingly. Castiel meets his eyes, presses a hand to his head with an angry scowl, and then pushes at him and walks away without another word.

Dean stares at the tree in front of him. His lips feel hot, he’s half hard in his jeans, and he’s _utterly confused_.

_What the fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel stumbles into his room at the hotel after some difficulty with the keycard. Swearing under his breath, he collapses on the bed, not bothering to remove his clothes. He doubts he could summon the dexterity needed to unbutton his shirt and remove his tie right now. 

After his encounter with Dean in the forested area of the park, he made his way back to the rest of the group and downed three more beers in quick succession, trying to wash away the taste of Dean on his lips. He’s not entirely sure he was successful, but he did manage to get himself spectacularly drunk, so he supposes it wasn’t entirely in vain. 

And now he’s thinking about those brief, fleeting moments again, the press of Dean’s lips against his own, the warmth of his hands on Castiel’s hips…

He rolls over and buries his face in his pillow with a groan. God, what were they thinking?

He can’t deny that he finds Dean incredibly attractive. It was the first thing he noticed about him. Or perhaps the second, the animosity with which he looked at Castiel being the first. Their working relationship has been tempestuous, to put it mildly. From that first disastrous presentation, it’s just been a series of bitter exchanges and rolling eyes.

Of course, there was also the incredibly awkward shadowing session, during which Castiel tried and failed not to stare too obviously at the bulge of Dean’s muscles as he lifted the drill with ease. He’d had to try to cover his admiring gazes by scribbling nonsense in his notebook just to avoid eye contact. Dean probably thought he was writing down critical remarks, when in fact Castiel was simply doodling hearts and exclamation marks over and over again.

He hadn’t been planning on kissing Dean when he wandered away from the crowd earlier tonight. The noise and the lights from the picnic, combined with the warmth of the air, had simply become a bit too much for him, even though he’d only been halfway through his second beer. He’d felt a headache developing, throbbing in his skull, and he’d only been looking for a bit of peace and quiet, a moment of refuge from the forced smiles and polite conversation. 

Dean just has a way of pushing his buttons, he supposes. A way of getting under his skin. That stunt he pulled, playing the music on his phone, might have been amusing under different circumstances. But with his head already pounding, Castiel simply hadn’t been in the mood. The sparkle in Dean’s eyes as he continued to rile him up had put Castiel in the mood for something else entirely, though.

So, really, it isn’t the fact that he and Dean kissed that surprises Castiel. He’s been thinking about kissing Dean since basically the moment they met.

It’s the fact that Dean kissed him back.

Nothing in his behaviour ever indicated to Castiel that Dean would be interested in kissing him. But now that he has, Castiel can’t help but wonder if he would be amenable to doing it again.

A buzzing from his pocket distracts him from his thoughts. Reaching down, he pulls out the phone, and only then realizes that it’s not his own. It’s Dean’s, which he forgot to give back to him in his confusion.

“Shit,” he mutters. He declines the call and places the phone on the nightstand where he’s sure to see it in the morning, but it buzzes again. After the third declined call, he eventually answers.

“Hello?” he says.

“You’re not Dean.” It’s a young man’s voice, surprised and more than a little suspicious. 

“No, I am not,” Castiel agrees. “Who are you?”

“I’m his brother. Sam.”

So Dean has a brother. It’s perhaps not the most honest way to learn more about him, but Castiel can’t deny that he wants to know all there is to know about Dean. 

“Why are you answering his phone? Is he okay?” Sam asks, worry seeping into his voice. “Or...is he there with you?”

He’s clearly trying to be delicate about it instead of outright asking if Castiel is sleeping with Dean. He represses a laugh at the thought. Wouldn’t that be nice. 

“No, he’s not with me, and yes, as far as I know, he’s perfectly fine.” Possibly also rather drunk, if Castiel had to guess, but fine. “There was a mix-up at the company picnic tonight and I grabbed his phone off the table by mistake.”

He’s rather proud of himself for coming up with what he thinks is a convincing cover story. 

“Oh,” Sam says. “Okay. I’ll, uh, try calling him back tomorrow, I guess.”

“That would probably be best.”

“Thanks. Sorry, I never got your name.”

“It’s Castiel.”

“Thanks, Castiel,” Sam says. “You have a good night.”

“You as well, Sam.”

Castiel ends the call and puts Dean’s phone back on the nightstand. Distantly, he’d been aware that he’d have to return it to him somehow, but the call from Sam made that a lot clearer. 

Not until the morning, though. He’ll deal with it all in the morning. For now, Castiel flicks off the lamp, rolls onto his side, and passes out.

***

Unsurprisingly, he feels horrible in the morning. He pulls himself out of bed with a groan and stumbles blearily into the bathroom, wincing at the harsh light. God, he looks awful. His skin is sallow and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. He wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep away the day, but unfortunately, he has to give Dean back his phone.

And perhaps apologize, or try to explain himself. 

It’s a daunting task, but Castiel is no stranger to those. He has overcome many challenges to achieve his current position, both with Liberty and in life in general. He can do this.

After a quick but thorough shower, his usual grooming routine, a very large coffee, and several glasses of water, he looks mostly presentable. He grabs a plain bagel on his way to the site, hoping the carbs will help absorb any alcohol remaining in his system.

It’s almost ten o’clock by the time he arrives at the mine, and he doesn’t have the luxury of hiding behind Meg or Balthazar this time, since they’re not scheduled to visit today. The picnic had been planned for an evening when the consultants weren’t expected to make an appearance at the site the next day, giving them time to recover. Castiel notices a few curious glances being thrown his way, wondering what he’s doing here, but he keeps his head high and ignores them.

He’s able to determine where Dean’s team is working today thanks to a chart in Crowley’s office, which all the consultants have access to during their stay. Thankfully, Crowley himself isn’t there. Castiel wasn’t looking forward to having to explain to him why he needs to find Dean. 

His confidence falters as he takes the groaning elevator down into the mine, tapping his hand nervously against his leg. He shouldn’t have left so abruptly the night before. He should have tried to talk to Dean then, to figure out what was running through his mind. Now Dean has had time to dwell on the situation, and if he’s displeased about it, it will certainly show. 

Castiel finds Dean’s team exactly where they’re supposed to be. Benny catches sight of him first, his eyes widening in surprise. “Mr. Novak,” he says, “is there something we can help you with?”

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to Dean.” He manages to keep his voice steady, casual. No hint of the nervousness thrumming through his body.

“Sure thing,” Benny says, like one of the consultants turning up as they’re working and asking to speak to one of his teammates is a common occurrence. “Dean!” he calls. “Somebody here to see you.”

Dean approaches slowly, and Castiel can feel the rest of the team looking between the two of them with interest. “Perhaps we should take this elsewhere,” he murmurs.

Dean looks like he wants to argue, but then sighs. “Whatever.” He turns to Cesar, who’s watching them calmly, though there’s a hint of what might be amusement in his eyes. “Back soon, chief.”

Cesar waves him off, and the rest of the team get back to work. Castiel leads Dean back up the elevator and into Crowley’s office, hanging the _In a meeting: do not disturb_ sign on the door before closing it behind them. 

As soon as the door shuts, Dean rounds on him, expression furious. “What the hell, man,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dragging me away from my team for a private chat? What, you have to make sure I’m not going to running my mouth about what happened last night? Your secret is safe with me, buddy. I was there too, okay? I’m not going to report you or anything.”

He pauses to take a breath, chest heaving, and opens his mouth to continue, but Castiel stops him with a raised hand. He digs into his pocket and places Dean’s phone on the desk in front of them.

“I just wanted to return that,” he says, as calmly as he can manage.

“Oh,” Dean says, clearly caught off-guard. “I thought I dropped that. I was going to go looking for it tonight.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t give it back to you yesterday. That I took it at all, really.”

Dean looks at him, his eyes narrowed. “Is that all you’re sorry for?”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry if anything that I did was unwanted on your part. I was....it doesn’t matter. My behaviour was unacceptable. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

There’s no answer from Dean, who is still staring at him, arms still crossed over his chest, so Castiel continues. “If you do wish to report the incident, I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions.”

He isn’t, really. He has a big promotion riding on this visit, and if Dean chooses to register a complaint about Castiel’s behaviour, that promotion could be put at risk. Everything he’s worked so hard for. But he has his integrity, and that’s something he’ll never sacrifice.

Dean finally blinks at him, his arms unfolding from their defensive hold across his chest. “I already said I’m not going to do that.”

“You would have every right to,” Castiel points out.

“Just stop,” Dean says, running a hand through his hair. “God, you look so fucking tragic right now. The big martyr. Like we’re about to send you to the gallows or something. Calm down, man. It was just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss,” Castiel replies flatly. That’s certainly not how he would describe it. It was the best kiss he’d had in years. Needy, desperate, earth-scorchingly hot. His gaze drops to Dean’s mouth, and he licks his own lips, suddenly gone dry. 

He wants to kiss Dean again. And again, and again.

But he won’t make that reckless move. He has too much pride, and also too much at stake. So he just awkwardly clears his throat and raises his eyes to Dean’s again, praying his longing isn’t clearly written across his face.

“Your brother called, last night,” he says, hoping to distract him with a change in topic.

“What?” Dean’s eyes flick up to meet his. Flick up, because they had dropped to the lower part of Castiel’s face. So he isn’t alone in this. Under other circumstances, that would send a thrill of victory coursing through Castiel’s veins, but right now, it only promises trouble.

“Your brother,” he repeats desperately. “Sam? He called your phone several times last night. I eventually picked up. You should call him back.”

Dean’s face goes carefully blank. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Taken aback by the coldness in his voice, Castiel frowns. “I thought it best that he didn’t continue getting your voicemail, so he didn’t worry.”

“All Sammy does is worry about me, for no good reason,” Dean mutters under his breath.

There’s an opening there. Attempting a sympathetic smile, Castiel says, “I have brothers like that. You two must be close.”

Apparently, it’s the wrong tactic. Dean’s scowl intensifies and he takes a step back from Castiel. “Look, man, you don’t know me just because you know what the inside of my mouth tastes like, alright? Back off.”

“I just--”

“No, you know what? We’re done here.” Dean casts one last scornful look in Castiel’s direction and yanks the door open with far more force than is necessary. 

Well, that went well, Castiel thinks sourly, slumping back against the desk. He was foolish to try to build a connection to Dean, even if it was purely in the spirit of friendship and workplace cooperation. There’s just too much tension between them, he supposes. There has been since the beginning. 

He sits there a minute longer, and then hears the sound of footsteps approaching. He looks up, hoping perhaps it’s Dean coming back, but is disappointed to see Crowley’s blocky figure enter the room instead.

He raises one eyebrow at the sight of Castiel. “Mr. Novak,” he greets him. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here either,” Castiel sighs. “I had a matter to see to. But it’s been resolved, so I think I’ll be heading out.”

“Hmn.” Crowley looks out the door, then back to Castiel. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult a matter.”

There’s something in his tone that gives Castiel pause. Something sly, something knowing. But he keeps his spine straight and his voice controlled as he replies, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He walks past Crowley without another word, leaving the site behind. Today has been a disaster, and he wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and pretend it never happened.

***

The next day starts off on a more promising note. Balthazar knocks on his door at exactly eight o’clock, carrying Castiel’s coffee and breakfast and a stack of files. “Good morning, sir,” he drawls, managing to make the honorific sound like a horrible insult. 

Castiel smiles at the reassuring familiarity of it all and accepts the coffee gratefully. “What’s on the agenda for the day?”

“Let’s have a look.” Balthazar flips through the files and finds the correct day’s schedule. “Ah, another shadowing session.”

Hope springs to life in Castiel’s chest, but he quickly smothers it. Balthazar knows him too well, and will be able to tell if Castiel responds with too much enthusiasm. “Oh, that’s not so bad,” he says, aiming for a casual tone as he takes a bite of his breakfast sandwich.

“You’ll be working with Benjamin Lafitte this time,” Balthazar continues. “He’s the large one, I believe.”

“They’re miners, Balthazar, none of them are exactly what I would term small,” Castiel points out.

“The delightfully large, cuddly-looking one with the charmingly roguish accent,” Balthazar specifies, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“And a wedding ring on his finger,” Castiel laughs.

“All the better. Keeps the lines firmly drawn.”

Castiel winces at that. He’s crossed a few lines already in his interactions with Dean, but he isn’t about to mention that. 

“Well, Benny seems friendly enough,” he says, finishing the last of his coffee. “Let’s go see what he has to teach us.”

Of course, because the universe hates him for reasons Castiel doesn’t understand, they arrive at the site to find that the plan has changed.

“Benny took a personal day,” Cesar explains to them. “His wife isn’t feeling well.”

“Ah,” Castiel replies. “How unfortunate for them both.”

“We have your associate working with Victor today, and I need Jo’s help with a particular project of my own,” Cesar continues. “So you’ll be spending the day with Dean again, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry. He does neither, maintaining his professional facade. “Very well,” he says. 

“And Mr. Crowley has suggested that Hannah and Balthazar might enjoy spending the day with him,” Cesar finishes. 

Balthazar makes a face, but nods. Castiel wants to protest, but knows he has no good reason to do so. The administrative side of the operation is surely more interesting to Balthazar, but Castiel had been counting on having him as a buffer between him and Dean. Apparently that will not be the case.

“Dean!” Cesar calls out. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

It takes a minute for Dean to separate himself from the group of miners standing a few feet away. Judging by the resigned look on his face, he’s already been informed of the plan for the day.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says.

He can do this. He’s a professional, for God’s sake. What does it matter if Dean’s hair is perfectly mussed from his safety hat, if his outfit highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the outward curve of his legs? 

Dean doesn’t reply, just heaves a sigh and jerks his head towards one of the tunnels that branches off from where they’re standing. Castiel casts one pleading look back at Balthazar, who offers a grave salute, then turns and follows Dean into the dark.

“You’re going to have to talk to me at some point,” he says after they’ve been walking for a few minutes. Unless, of course, Dean has no intention of doing any work and is just luring him down this dark tunnel in order to kill him.

Surely that’s not the case.

“Dean?” he asks warily. “Where are we going?”

Still no reply. 

There’s no one around to witness them, so Castiel reaches out and grabs hold of Dean’s shoulder. “Stop,” he says firmly. “This silent treatment is childish and ridiculous.”

Dean glares at him, pushing Castiel’s hand aside. “They said you were shadowing me, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, confused.

“Do shadows speak?”

Castiel sputters, and Dean says, “No. Shadows are silent. So yeah, you can tag along, take your notes, but don’t get in my way, and for the love of God, be quiet.”

“You can’t speak to me that way,” Castiel says, drawing himself up to his full height. 

“Sorry, did you say something? Can’t hear you,” Dean drawls, pulling his safety hat more firmly over his ears. “Now come on.”

Still fuming, Castiel follows Dean a bit further down the tunnel. Now he’s the one contemplating murder. Why oh why did Benny’s wife have to be sick today of all days?

They reach a section of the tunnel that has been blocked off with low wooden barriers and bright yellow caution tape. Dean reaches down and pulls a large flashlight off his belt, then passes it to Castiel. “Hold this,” he orders.

Castiel takes it. “Can shadows hold things?” he questions. “I’m not sure I’m capable of this task.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been promoted. Congratulations.” Dean slips under the barrier and reaches out to the wall of the tunnel, running his hands over a small section.

“Should you be doing that?” Castiel asks, looking at the blockade in front of it.

“What do you think Cesar sent me here for, genius?” Dean looks back at him and shakes his head. “Somebody’s gotta check up on this section. There’s some weakening of the structure, so they’ve closed it off for now just to be safe.”

Castiel immediately glances upwards, trying to gauge the stability of the area they’re standing in.

“It’s not going to collapse,” Dean informs him. “Stop acting so nervous.”

“Not all of us are accustomed to these conditions,” Castiel snaps. He is nervous, and he’s angry with himself for letting Dean see it.

“Of course not,” Dean mutters. “You’re used to polished floor-to-ceiling windows and ergonomic office furniture and long lunches on the company’s dime.”

Strictly speaking, what he’s saying is true. But Castiel still bristles at his tone. “It takes a lot of work to make it that far,” he says. 

He rose up through the ranks of Liberty Executive Solutions with exactly that kind of hard work. And he still has the potential to rise further. So what if Dean sneers at the way he usually spends his days? Castiel knows the truth, knows exactly how far he’s come in life. And he should be proud of that.

“Whatever,” Dean mutters, turning back to his inspection of the tunnel wall. “Move that light a little to the left.”

From project manager to flashlight holder. Castiel is actually relieved that Balthazar didn’t accompany them, now. He would never let Castiel live this down.

Still smarting from Dean’s earlier words, Castiel stays quiet as Dean continues to work. He is curious about what exactly he’s doing, but he doesn’t get the impression Dean will respond well to questions, even well-meaning ones. Maybe he can ask Cesar later. It’s going to be a long five weeks if Castiel doesn’t start picking up at least some basic knowledge of the way things work down here.

Dean starts mumbling to himself, obviously having found something. Castiel opens his mouth to ask what it is, but then Dean draws his hand back with a sharp cry.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks quickly, shining the beam of light more directly on Dean.

It’s bright enough to see the flash of blood on Dean’s hand. “I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Caught my hand on a nail, that’s all.”

“We should get that wrapped up,” Castiel declares. “Come on.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean protests, staying stubbornly rooted in place. “I’ve got one last section to check.”

“We can come back after,” Castiel argues. 

“Five more minutes.”

Castiel respects Dean’s commitment to his work, truly. But he takes health and safety concerns very seriously. “Dean,” he says. “I’m going to ask you one more time, and if you persist in being so stubborn, I will drag you out of here myself.”

That gets Dean’s attention. He looks at Castiel, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and then nods stiffly, his injured hand held tightly in the other. 

“Come on.” It isn’t hard to find the way back to the main section of the tunnel and then take the elevator back to the surface. From there, Dean directs him to the employee lounge, where they keep a first-aid kit. 

In the harsh fluorescent lighting, the blood is stark against Dean’s tanned skin. Castiel clicks his tongue against his teeth and reaches for an anti-bacterial wipe, then gestures to Dean to hold out his hand. 

“I can do it,” Dean says. He sounds rather petulant, Castiel thinks, like a sulky child. 

“It’s your dominant hand that’s injured,” Castiel argues. “Dean. Shut up and let me see your hand.”

Still scowling, Dean stretches out his injured hand. Castiel gently cleans the gash with the anti-bacterial wipe, noting that it isn’t nearly as bad as it looks once the blood has been wiped away. He tries not to let his touch linger, keeping the contact clinical, detached.

He covers the wound with some ointment and then smoothes a large bandage over it. Despite himself, his fingers rest against Dean’s palm a minute longer than is strictly necessary. Blushing, he looks up into Dean’s face, an apology on his lips.

Dean’s eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed, and they’re standing so close Castiel can hear the rapid beating of his heart. He doesn’t pull his hand away from Castiel’s grip.

“Dean…” Castiel says quietly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raises their joined hands towards his face. Dean still doesn’t pull away. Taking a deep breath, Castiel closes his eyes and gently places a kiss over the bandage he’s just finished wrapping around Dean’s hand.

Dean lets out a groan and his other hand rises to tangle in Castiel’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Castiel stumbles back a step, surprised, but doesn’t break the connection between them. He rests his hand at Dean’s waist and pulls him even closer, deepening the kiss as he does.

It’s even better than their first kiss, somehow. Something about the fact that his head is clear, that he can see Dean’s face, that neither of them has been drinking at all. Or maybe it’s just the fact that the first time could be termed an accident, or a mistake, but this? This is a choice. One that they’re both making.

“You drive me crazy,” Dean murmurs, tearing his mouth away from Castiel’s. Before Castiel can protest, he’s trailing his lips down the side of his neck, teasing. “Always so goddamn proper.” He reaches out and tugs lightly on Castiel’s tie, his eyes darkening. “Wanna know what you’re like when all the armour comes off.”

Castiel shudders at his words. “I want to let you find out,” he confesses, pressing his lips back to Dean’s and swallowing his moan. He backs them up until Dean is pressed against the counter, then reaches down and hoists him up onto it. Dean lets out a breathless little laugh and wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist.

It feels like being seventeen again, sneaking moments and kisses in between classes. Castiel knows this isn’t the best venue for such activities. Someone could walk in at any minute. But quite frankly, he doesn’t care. Not with the way Dean is sighing into his mouth, sliding his tongue over his lips, digging his hands into his hips hard enough to leave a mark.

He’s hard in his slacks and he can feel the answering press of Dean’s erection against his thigh. He shifts slightly and is rewarded with a sharp gasp of pleasure from Dean. Encouraged, he moves to repeat the motion, but Dean pushes him away slightly, creating distance between their bodies.

Castiel goes willingly, though he frowns. “Dean?” he checks. “Was that too much?”

Dean tips his head back and groans. “Too much and not enough,” he says. “Fuck, Cas, I want to--” He shakes his head, his eyes still clouded with lust. “But I gotta get back to work, and this isn’t exactly the best place to be getting down and dirty.”

He’s right. As much as Castiel hates it, he’s right. He sighs and re-adjusts his tie. “Very well,” he murmurs. “Back underground, then?”

“Hey.” Dean reaches out and takes hold of his elbow. “Maybe tonight, after we finish up here…” He licks his lips. “We can pick up where we left off?”

“I’d like that,” Castiel manages. Christ. He never would have expected this little make-out session, let alone the promise of more. “I’d like that very much.”

“I know you will,” Dean says with a sly grin. “Come on, shadow. There’s still work that needs to be done.”

He strides jauntily out of the room, practically whistling, and Castiel follows obediently, no longer offended at the nickname. It’s hard to be in a bad mood when he can still feel the press of Dean’s lips against his own.

It helps that he gets to watch the sway of Dean’s perfect ass as he leads him back into the mine. Maybe he’ll even get to ask a few questions this time, to pass the time until he gets to go back to his hotel and get his hands all over Dean’s body without that admittedly fetching uniform in the way.


	5. Chapter 5

_What the hell am I doing?_

Dean drums his fingers against the elevator dashboard, watching as the circular numbers light up quickly, one after another. It’s only the fifth floor, but for some reason, the ride up feels like an eternity. 

And yet, when the doors finally slide open, Dean can’t move.

Is it wise, a voice that sounds surprisingly like Sam asks in his head, to fool around with Castiel? Dean frowns and shakes his head at the voice. Spring Mountains doesn’t care about workplace relationships (Abby and Amara are proof of that), and Castiel isn’t working with him, technically — the mining company is Castiel’s client, so to say, so he’s not Dean’s supervisor or even an actual co-worker… He just _is_. He’s hot, and he’s willing, and Dean is so very into him.

So?

 _So nothing_ , another voice adds. So fuck it. It doesn’t even mean anything. It’s just sex. It’s gonna be fine.

Dean gets out of the elevator before it closes again and heads towards the end of the corridor, watching the door numbers pass by. His steps are quick and sure, and he pushes all of the doubt away and concentrates on the good thing — which is that _he’s getting laid tonight_.

Just this small thought is enough to make him eagerly pick up his speed. He can almost feel the phantom touch of Castiel’s lips against his own, the heat of his mouth, the strong grip of his hands as he grabbed him by the thighs and all but _lifted_ him up and onto the counter. The sounds of his moans. The feel of his hard cock against Dean’s crotch. Dean’s fingers tremble when he finally stops in front of Castiel’s door and knocks, but he can’t help it. After the entire day of feeling Castiel’s heated gaze on the back of his neck as they worked, it’s finally happening.

“Come in!” 

Dean takes a deep breath, pushes the door open, and walks inside. At first, he doesn’t notice anyone, and simply stares at the king size, four-poster bed right in front of him. It’s unmade but doesn’t look too messy, simply as if someone was lounging in it and forgot to tidy up after themselves.

“Dean,” he hears then, and tears his gaze away from the bed. Castiel, still in his dark slacks and white shirt, but without the tie, steps towards him with a slight frown and two glasses in his hands. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Dean smirks. “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we.”

He immediately wants to smack himself for even saying it, but Castiel doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite — he stops right in front of him, eyebrow raised and eyes dark.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs and passes the glass to Dean without taking his eyes off his. “Yes, I guess we will.”

Dean lets out a small laugh. “What’s that?” he asks, looking down at the glass.

“I thought you’d like a drink,” Castiel says. His voice is quiet and deep and it turns Dean’s insides to fire.

“You think a lot,” Dean mutters. He pours the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallows, wincing at the pleasant burn. He meets Castiel’s eyes again and gestures with his hand.

Castiel drinks, but doesn’t look away. He licks his lips, takes the glass out of Dean’s grip and turns to put them down on the counter.

Dean follows him.

“Do you want—”

Before Castiel can finish his question, Dean has him pinned to the counter, lips pressed against the skin of his neck, hands gripping his hips. Castiel stiffens for a second, but then lets out a groan and his head falls back, onto Dean’s shoulder, exposing more smooth skin for Dean to mouth at.

“Dean,” Castiel rumbles. He pushes back into him, unashamed, and Dean feels his own dick perk up when it rubs against the swell of Castiel’s ass. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. Frantic, he uses one hand to tug at the collar of Castiel’s shirt and expose more of his collarbone and shoulder. Castiel seems to be melting beneath his lips, murmuring nonsense as Dean kisses and nips and licks at his sensitive skin. 

“More,” Castiel sighs, and then there are fingers in Dean’s hair, pulling his head up and against the side of Castiel’s neck. Dean bites at his earlobe and is rewarded with a prolonged moan and a shallow push of Castiel’s ass against his crotch. “ _Dean_.”

“You like that?” Dean murmurs, licks at the skin behind Castiel’s ear, sucks a kiss under his jaw. He turns Castiel’s face towards him and kisses the corner of his mouth teasingly, the press of his lips in rhythm with the slow press of his dick against Castiel’s ass. “Tell me what you like.”

Castiel lets out a groan, and then he’s turning in Dean’s hold, arms reaching up to grab Dean’s head and pull him in for a frantic kiss. Dean lets him have it, opening his mouth for Castiel’s hot tongue and swallowing his breathy moans as they rub against each other. Castiel is hard, incredibly so, and Dean reaches down to touch him through his pants.

“Dean, f-fuck,” Castiel groans. He arches himself into Dean’s touch, eyes falling closed, lips parted. Dean surges forward to kiss him again, hungry and hot and dirty. It takes him only a moment to unbuckle and unzip Castiel’s pants, and then he’s pushing his hand inside even before Castiel realizes what’s going on. 

“This okay?” Dean asks, smirking against his lips as he strokes him through his underwear, slow and lazy, pretending not to notice Castiel is already leaking through the thin material of his boxers. Castiel doesn’t answer, but he kisses him frantically, fingers tangled in Dean’s hair, hips moving to match Dean’s hand.

Humming, Dean pushes Castiel against the counter and helps him sit up on it, mirroring their position from earlier today. Castiel’s eyes snap open and stare at him intensely, the blue of his irises almost completely swallowed by his dark pupils. He reaches for Dean, catches him by the t-shirt, and pulls him in for an open-mouthed kiss. It quickly turns to Castiel panting against Dean’s lips when Dean pulls Castiel’s cock out of his boxers and starts jerking him off in earnest. 

“Yes,” Castiel gasps. His fingers tighten in Dean’s hair, but Dean doesn’t mind, not when he can see Castiel staring at his own cockhead disappearing inside Dean’s fist with such reverence. “Yea-aaah, Dean, just like that.”

“Fuck,” Dean murmurs, and he speeds up, impatient to see the look on Castiel’s face when he spills over his fist. “Cas, fuck.”

Castiel heaves out a loud, breathy sigh, squeezes his eyes shut, head lolling back as he comes, hot spurts of his release painting the white material of his shirt. Dean milks him through it, panting, and when Castiel finally opens his eyes to smile deliriously at him, Dean pulls him off the counter, draws him in, and crushes his mouth in a kiss.

Spent and lazy as he must be, Castiel doesn’t wait too long before moving again. He pushes at Dean, making him stumble backwards until the backs of his legs meet the bed. Woozy and painfully hard, Dean falls down onto the mattress and watches with unabashed enthusiasm as Castiel falls to his knees in front of him and reaches up for his zipper.

“Mhm-mmm,” Dean moans happily. Castiel wastes no time in opening up his jeans and pulling him out, hard as a rock and wet with precome. “Fuck, yes. Do it, Cas.”

Castiel looks up at him through his eyelashes and licks his lips.

“What do you want me to do, Dean?” he asks hoarsely.

Dean is surprised he hasn’t come yet. Unconsciously, he reaches forward and touches Castiel’s cheek, almost tenderly.

“More,” he whispers brokenly. “Please, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes flutter closed at his words and he shuffles forward, his hand tightening over Dean’s cock. Enthralled, Dean stops breathing for a moment, focused solely on the way Castiel’s perfect pink lips part only to swallow him down in the next second, wrapping him up in the impossibly tight heat that almost makes Dean’s heart explode.

He thinks he’s swearing and panting and moaning like a pornstar, but he doesn’t care, not when Castiel manages to suck him all in, Dean’s cock bumping against his throat and sliding in easily as Cas swallows around him like a pro. Dean leans back on one of his hands, unable to sit upright anymore, but he’s still watching, and when Castiel opens his eyes and looks back at him, mouth still full of cock, Dean helplessly pushes his hips up, the other hand that’s still gripping Cas by the hair pulling him gently down. 

Castiel moans and digs his fingers into Dean’s hips.

That’s when someone knocks on the door.

It takes them a moment to even realize what’s happening, more so for Dean than for Castiel. He’s still completely dazed when Castiel pulls off suddenly and stands up so quickly he must be getting dizzy himself.

“Wha—” Dean tries to ask, but then the knock sounds again.

“Castiel?” someone calls through the door. “You there?”

“Fuck,” Cas swears under his breath. His eyes are wide, hair completely fucked, and lips reddened. He’s also wearing a shirt that’s still wet with his own come, and his pants are undone. When he says his next words, though, he sounds terrifyingly normal. “Get up.”

“Shit, what—” 

“Up,” Castiel orders quietly. “You have to hide.”

“Hide?” Dean asks, brows furrowed. It’s difficult to think when he’s still on the verge of coming, still remembering the feel of Cas’ mouth. “Where?”

Castiel zips his pants up and tries to tuck in his shirt as best as he can. He shoots Dean a furious look and gestures frantically towards the closet on the other side of the room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean whispers. “I’m not going _into the closet_ , you ass!”

“Then go hide in the bathroom,” Castiel hisses at him, and then starts pushing him towards the closed bathroom door. The person standing in the corridor calls for him again and Castiel growls at Dean and shoves him into the small dark room.

“Cas—!” Dean tries to protest, but Castiel slams the door in his face.

“One second!” he calls out. Dean can hear his quick footsteps and some shuffling, and then the other door opens and the voice from the other side speaks up again. Dean instantly recognises Balthazar.

“What took you so long, Castiel? Are you hiding something from me?” 

“I could never hide anything from you, Balthazar,” Castiel grumbles. “It’s late. What do you want?”

“You need to come with me,” Balthazar says. “Meg is having some sort of a crisis and you’re the only person I can think of that could help.”

Dean can distinctly hear Castiel’s deep, annoyed intake of breath. He would even pity him if it weren’t for the fact that he has just shoved him into the bathroom without finishing with him first. Dean sighs irritably and looks down at his half hard cock with disappointment. The door slams closed, Castiel’s and Balthazar’s voices become smaller and smaller as they walk away, and then he tucks himself in and goes to wash his face and hands.

“Getting laid, my ass,” he mutters.

He waits, but when Castiel doesn’t come back fifteen minutes later, he gives up, sneaks out of the hotel, and goes home.

***

“Got a call from Jesse today,” Cesar says at breakfast, beaming. “He bought the tickets.”

Everyone sitting at the table in the canteen cheers at that. Dean grins at Cesar over his coffee.

“Where are you two going again?”

“Spain,” Cesar says dreamily. “Two more months and it’s vacation, here I come!”

“I can’t believe I wasted my vacation renovating the house,” Benny grumbles. “I want my free time back.”

“At least now you can actually _live_ there,” Jo says. “And I bet Andrea’s happy.”

“I guess,” Benny says. “But still. I’m so jealous, man.”

Cesar smiles at him. “I would be, too.”

Dean sighs. “And here I am, waiting until I can get my week off.”

“Any plans?” Max asks, then stuffs his mouth with eggs. 

“Nah,” Dean says. “Sleep and eat some normal food, probably.”

There’s a chorus of agreement around their table, and as everyone continues to eat and chat while trying not to yawn too much, Dean sips his coffee and thinks. Maybe he could finally talk to Sam and think about inviting him up for a few days — or going to California himself?

He almost chokes on his coffee when he looks up and catches sight of a person who’s just coming into the canteen. Jo, sitting beside him and alarmed by his reaction, looks up too, interested.

“Novak? What’s he doing here? I’ve never seen him during breakfast before.”

“I think the execs get all their food at their hotel or something,” Cesar says, frowning. “I only ever saw Hannah join us, I think she’s the only one who’s really trying to get to know us.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, eyes following Castiel as he joins Hannah by the counter and picks up a tray. They haven’t seen each other in two days, not after Cas left him in his hotel bathroom and never came back. He’s not entirely sure where they stand, but he still glares at the back of Castiel’s head, just to make himself feel better. 

Soon, both Hannah and Castiel turn around to look for a place to sit. Stubbornly, Dean doesn’t look away, and isn’t surprised when Cas finally looks his way and meets his gaze. A tingle runs down Dean’s spine and he tightens his grip on the cup he’s holding. Castiel doesn’t smile and neither does Dean, but the intensity with which Castiel is looking at him makes everything around Dean seem unimportant and dull.

It isn’t until Hannah and Cas pass their table and sit down somewhere behind Dean’s back that Dean tunes back in to the conversation around him.

“...two out of four, that’s something,” Max says. “The other two don’t seem to care at all, if I’m being honest.”

“Masters isn’t all that bad,” Abby says.

“You’re only saying that because you’re into her,” Jo points out with a smirk.

“So what if I am?” Abby asks. “I’m not breaking any rules, am I, chief?” She looks over at Cesar, who makes a face and shrugs. 

“They’re not actually our supervisors,” he says slowly. “It’s not something you should brag about, but it’s also not forbidden.”

Dean tries to hide his grin behind his coffee. Here it is, the confirmation he’s been waiting for. If he wants to fool around with Cas, no one is gonna stop him. 

Well, apart from maybe Balthazar, he thinks grimly.

Before he can dwell on that too long, though, another thought occurs to him. He looks up at Abby with a frown. 

“Wait. Aren’t you dating Amara?”

Max snorts. “Ah, here it is. The famous question.”

Abby raises an eyebrow at Dean. “I am. She’s into Meg, too.”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it and frowns. His colleagues around him chuckle and Abby sends him a wink, and Dean decides it’s better not to ask any more questions for now.

“Dude,” Benny says suddenly. He’s sitting opposite of Dean and looking at something over Dean’s shoulder. “This is some hardcore staring that’s happening right now.”

“What?” Dean asks, confused, and turns around without thinking.

A few tables from them, Castiel is chewing his breakfast, eyes never leaving Dean. When he realizes Dean is looking at him, too, he looks down quickly, the points of his ears turning bright red. Dean tries to hide his self-satisfied smirk when he turns back to his friends. 

“What’s up with him? Still hating your guts?” Max asks curiously.

“Probably,” Dean says, shrugging. “But who knows with that guy.”

“What did he want from you last time, by the way? You never told us,” Jo says.

Dean takes his time sipping his coffee, trying to think of a good excuse. “Just, uh. Wanted to discuss some details about our shadowing sessions. Boring stuff, you know.”

Fortunately, no one seems interested in that, and they quickly move onto another subject. Soon, everyone finishes their breakfast and starts getting ready to leave for work. Dean hangs back, pretending to still drink his coffee while the others stand up from their table and walk out. 

There are still people in the canteen, but Dean doesn’t really care. As soon as the last of his friends walk out the door, he puts down his cup and turns around in his seat. 

Cas is still there, and he’s alone by his table, leaning over the plate and pushing the crumbs around with his fork. Dean stares and waits patiently for Cas to look up and meet his eyes.

He does so not even five seconds later and his entire body stiffens in surprise. Dean smiles slowly, lips spreading in a way he knows makes people weak in their knees. He watches, fascinated, as Castiel ducks his head, only to look up at him again a moment later, looking almost shy.

Dean ignores the way his heart picks up speed and focuses on never looking away from Castiel. He lets his legs fall open, almost innocuously, and watches as Cas’ eyes widen at the sight and he fidgets in his seat. Dean smirks, lazily rubs a hand over his own thigh, then bites down on his lower lip. It’s so quick no one but Castiel could notice, and soon he’s standing up and picking up his tray.

He still has a few minutes before his shift starts, so he slowly makes his way towards Cas’ table, making sure to add a special sway to his hips as he walks. He knows he’s successful when Cas has trouble looking up from the place below his waist and meeting his eyes when Dean finally stops in front of him.

“Morning, Mr. Novak,” Dean purrs. He leans with one hip against the table and raises one brow, satisfied when he notices Cas’ parted lips and wide eyes. “Got bored of hotel food and decided to join us here today?”

Castiel swallows loudly. “You could say that.”

His rough voice sends shivers through Dean’s entire body, but he tries not to let it show. “I see. And?”

Cas blinks. “And… what, Dean?”

Fuck, even hearing his own name said in that low voice is turning Dean’s legs to jello. Especially when he remembers how Cas moaned his name not two days ago, repeatedly.

“And did you enjoy it?” Dean asks roughly.

Cas doesn’t look away. “I really wish I had more time to savour it,” he says slowly. “Without… interruption.”

Dean lets out a breathy sigh. “Oh. Okay. I see.”

“Yes,” Cas murmurs. “I’m really sorry I won’t get to finish my coffee.”

“Why? Don’t you like it?” Dean asks innocently.

“Oh, I like it,” Cas says hotly. “Very much. But, see, my co-worker is waiting for me outside of those doors and I really need to go.”

“Fuck ‘em, then,” Dean says. “Just finish your damn coffee. They’re not your boss, aren’t they? They can’t tell you what to do.”

“No,” Cas nods. “But they’re my friend. I’m disappointed, but I also hope that maybe I will get to… drink the same coffee tomorrow. Or some other day.”

Dean clears his throat and looks down for a moment. “Why wait till tomorrow, though? Can’t you have coffee in the afternoon?”

Cas breathes in loudly. “Really? You think I… should do that?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says. He meets Cas’ eyes again and tries to send him a smirk, but it feels much more friendly than that, for some reason. He ignores it for now and pushes on without hesitation. “You should just sit down in your office, during a break or something. And just drink the hell out of it.”

“I don’t have an office,” Cas says slowly. “I share one with my friends _and_ with Crowley.”

“Does it have a lock?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, just nods. Dean straightens up and pushes his hands into his pockets to hide the way they tremble, just a little.

He’s both terrified and excited when he puts on another smile and says, “Lunch’s in five hours. You should do it then.”

He doesn’t wait for Cas’ answer; he can’t, it already feels like too much. If he talks about “coffee” even five seconds longer, he won’t be able to stop himself from leaning down and kissing the hell out of Cas.

Hopefully, he think as he walks out of the canteen, feeling Cas’ eyes on his back the whole time, he’ll get to do exactly that during lunch. 

***

Dean spends the entire time until lunch worrying Castiel didn’t actually understand his hidden meaning and actually _was_ talking about coffee, but all of his doubts disappear the second Cas shoves him against the closed door of Crowley’s office and crushes his lips in a heated kiss.

No, Dean thinks, he can be pretty sure Cas didn’t really mean coffee.

He hears the lock turning and he pulls away to send Cas a curious look. Castiel blinks up at him with a scowl.

“No one’s interrupting us this time,” he says, voice low.

Dean’s heart skips a beat. “Okay. Yeah. Great,” he manages, but then Cas is kissing him again, pressing him against the door, pushing a knee in between Dean’s thighs. Dean lets out a small moan and his head falls back, Cas’ lips trailing down his throat. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s been riding Cas’ thigh until Cas backs away and the sweet pressure disappears. Dean opens his eyes to protest, but when he does, he notices Cas’ outstretched hand and eager expression.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “What?” he asks. He doesn’t take the offered hand, and Cas lets it fall by his side without so much as a blink.

“There’s a couch,” he says. “I thought maybe you wanted something more comfortable.”

“Kinky,” Dean jokes, but follows Cas anyway.

He reaches out and grabs Castiel’s arm before he can sit down, though, and when Cas turns to say something, Dean pulls him in for another kiss, all the while pushing against him so that the back of his legs meet the couch and he has no other option but to sit down and pull Dean with him. Dean goes gladly, knees on both sides on Cas’ hips, mouth hot and eager where he sucks wet kisses into Cas’ neck. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers. His hands find Dean’s ass and squeeze, and Dean rubs against him with a pleased hum. They both gasp when their cocks meet through the fabric of their pants and Dean can’t help but grind down, his lips falling open and eyes squeezed shut.

Not a moment later, he feels Cas’ impatient fingers at his belt and he grins. Looking down, he meets Cas’ heated gaze and nods slowly.

“Yeah, Cas,” he murmurs, leaning in to mouth against his ear. “Just like that.”

Cas growls low in his throat and pulls down his zipper. Dean hums with approval when he feels Cas’ hot fingers touch him through his underwear, a sound that turns to a moan when Cas doesn’t waste time and pulls him out just a second later. 

“Mhm-mm,” Dean sighs, pressing his face into Cas’ neck. Cas’ hand is moving slowly but surely and it’s making Dean dizzy with want. He fucks himself into Cas’ closed fist, hips bucking up, the gentle sounds of skin on skin and their heavy breaths like music to his ears. 

But then he hears another zipper and he straightens up just in time to see Cas’ other hand playing with his own pants. Without thinking, he slaps the hand away and chuckles darkly when Cas sends him a furious look.

“Nuh-uh,” he whispers against Cas’ lips. He rolls his hips into Cas’ hand and smiles down at him. “Not yet.”

“Dean,” Cas grunts. “What are you doing.”

“I’m learning from my mistakes,” Dean says quietly and licks at Castiel’s lips until they’re kissing again. Cas’ hand never slows down, but he doesn’t reach for himself anymore, and Dean grins into the kiss.

Then, suddenly, Cas’ hand disappears. Dean doesn’t even have time to realize what’s going on because he’s being pushed off of Cas’ lap and onto the couch. He falls down with a quiet yelp, but then there’s Cas leaning over him with a sly expression and dark eyes.

“You asked for it,” he murmurs. 

Dean wants to reach out and pull him down for a kiss, but Cas moves down without another word and then there’s hot breath over Dean’s exposed cock and nimble fingers pulling down his jeans and underwear.

“Cas,” Dean gasps. He wants to move his hips, but Cas holds him down with surprising force. “Cas, come on.”

He feels Cas’ lips brush against his naked thighs, travelling up but never really touching the place that needs it the most. Dean bucks up, involuntarily, and the hold of Cas’ fingers tightens.

“Don’t move,” Cas growls.

“Then do it, you dick,” Dean pants.

He hears Cas chuckle quietly and wants to say something else, something snarky and rude, just to piss him off more and see what it does to him, but then Cas licks a stripe up Dean’s hardness and all his thoughts disappear. All he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and dig his fingers into the fabric of the couch beneath him. 

Cas mouths at the head for a while before swallowing him down in one quick move. It feels even better than Dean remembers from last time, and he’s pretty sure he blacks out for a moment as Cas sucks him off eagerly. He gasps loudly and opens his eyes when he feels a light touch at his opening, and Cas doesn’t even have to do anything else before Dean feels it. He lets out a grunt, catches Cas by the hair and tugs, hard enough for Cas to pull off and look down at Dean with a satisfied smile. Dean opens his mouth, soundless, and comes against his stomach.

He feels rather than sees Cas moving above him, and he realizes his eyes are closed again. He’s spent and lazy, but he forces himself to open his eyes just in time to see Cas moving his own hand over his cock, staring right into Dean’s eyes.

“Oh,” Dean gasps. He reaches out. “Wait, lemme help.”

Cas doesn’t protest when Dean once again slaps his hand away, but this time to wrap his own fingers around Cas’ hardness and tug. They both move forward and meet for a lazy kiss, and soon Cas is moaning into Dean’s mouth and coming all over Dean’s fist and stomach.

Dean grunts when Cas falls down and crushes him into the couch, but he lets him stay like that for a moment. He’d actually be glad to stay like that for a bit longer, but he knows their lunch break is going to be over soon and his right leg is starting to get numb beneath Cas’ weight.

“Hey,” he says roughly. “Get up, man.”

Cas mumbles something intelligible, but complies. They both look down at the mess on Dean’s stomach and Dean lets out a short laugh. He think he can see Cas smile, but he’s not sure, and then Cas is getting up from the couch and moving over to the desk on the other side of the room. 

“Here,” he says, and tosses a box of tissues Dean’s way. They both spend a moment trying to clean up and make themselves more presentable, and then Dean stands up on shaky legs. 

“Uh,” he says, awkward. Cas meets his eyes for a second, and then looks down on the watch on his wrist.

“I believe my lunch break is going to be over in ten minutes,” he says. “Yours, too, I presume?”

Dean clears his throat. Jesus, but Cas is good at switching from dirty talk to business talk. He hopes he doesn’t realize it’s a bit harder for Dean.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Think I’m gonna go grab a sandwich or something.”

“Good idea,” Cas says. He looks around the small office, as if looking for something to eat, as well, and Dean gets the message. 

He walks towards the door and pulls out his phone, just to have something to do with his hands. 

“Okay, then. Uh. Thanks,” he says and cringes. Thanks? What the hell’s wrong with him? “I’m gonna— go now.”

Without looking back to see if Cas is even looking, he turns the lock and peers outside. The hall is empty. 

“Yes,” Cas says, and he sounds distracted. Probably already busy thinking about all the consultant things he needs to do. 

Dean shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. This is what they’re doing, and he doesn’t need tender kisses goodbye from him. This is not that kind of relationship.

“See you around, Cas,” he mutters and, without waiting for Cas to respond, he walks out of the office.


	6. Chapter 6

A few days have passed since their messy, frantic, glorious encounter in Crowley’s office, and every time Castiel sees Dean across the canteen or down one of the tunnels, all he can think about is the sounds Dean made when his climax hit. There hasn’t been time to talk, let alone repeat the experience, but Castiel desperately hopes the opportunity will arise soon.

So when Crowley announces another shadowing session, Castiel fights the urge to grin in triumph. He’s been paired with Dean so frequently, it would only make sense to keep them together. But then Crowley says, “Mr. Novak, you’ll be accompanying Jo today.”

Jo gives him a smile that might be friendly, even if it is slightly intimidating. Castiel nods, trying not to let his disappointment show. As Crowley goes through the list of other pairings, he suddenly realizes Dean isn’t standing with the rest of his team. 

Is he sick? Has something happened to him? Castiel wants to ask, but he knows it would raise some curious eyebrows, so he doesn’t comment on Dean’s absence. He thinks there might be someone else missing from the usual group, but in all honesty, the only one he’s paid much attention to so far has been Dean.

“Are you coming?” Jo asks impatiently, giving him a stern look. “We’ve got things to do.”

“Of course,” Castiel replies hastily. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly the kind of place for daydreaming,” Jo scoffs. “So pay attention, alright? I’m not going to be the one who lets you get hurt on my watch.”

“I’m not entirely helpless,” Castiel points out, rankled by her insinuation that he needs constant supervision.

Jo just gives him a look that says she isn’t convinced and strides away down the tunnel. Sighing, Castiel follows.

She seems to soften slightly over the course of the day, but Castiel has difficulty paying attention to what she’s saying. Her explanations don’t make him smile the way Dean’s always do, and there’s none of the sharp banter that colours his sessions with Dean. He finds himself wishing the day would end in a way he never has before, desperate to get out of this stuffy underground tunnel.

“One last thing to check on and then we’re done for the day,” Jo promises, sweeping her hair back up under her safety hat. “You’re doing pretty well, Novak.”

He’s well-used to the casual attitude from the miners at this point, so her use of his last name doesn’t bother him the way it might have even two weeks ago. “Thank you, Miss Harvelle,” he says dryly, and he’s gratified when the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile, obviously catching his tone. 

She leads him down a tunnel that looks faintly familiar, but then again, they all look the same to Castiel. When he sees the barriers, he realizes they’ve reached the same section of the tunnel Dean brought him to inspect a few days before. 

“This is usually Dean’s job,” Jo explains, “but since he’s on his week off, lucky bastard, I got stuck checking on it today.”

His week off. That makes sense. Castiel is relieved to know that Dean isn’t sick or injured. “Yes,” he says, “we checked on it a few days ago during our last shadowing session.”

“Did you? Come here, then.” Jo beckons him forward and grabs his hand, placing it lightly against the wall of the tunnel. “Just run your hand over it. See where it feels different?”

Castiel notes the way the wall seems to give slightly under the pressure of his hand and nods. 

“Careful, though,” Jo warns. “There might be nails sticking out there.”

“I know,” Castiel says, withdrawing his hand. “Dean cut himself on one.”

“Did he?” Jo sounds far too excited at the thought. “Idiot.” She says it fondly, though, and that gives Castiel the courage to do a little digging.

“Yes, he was awfully cranky at my insistence that we treat it immediately,” he says.

That draws a laugh from Jo. “Oh, I bet,” she says, still checking the wall. “God, he can be such a baby sometimes.”

“You all seem so close,” Castiel comments. “It must be nice.”

Jo looks at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “If you’re implying that there’s something going on between me and Dean--”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Good,” she says, stepping back from the wall and wiping her hands on her pants. “The team is like a family. None of us think about each other that way. Well, except for Abby and Amara, I guess, but they’re a unique case.”

“I had wondered about them,” Castiel admits.

“Yeah,” Jo says with a laugh, indicating that they can leave the at-risk section of the tunnel. “We were a bit worried when they got together, afraid of what would happen if they broke up, but they’re weirdly solid, those two.”

“I’m glad to hear there’s little workplace drama,” Castiel says with a wry grin. “I can’t say the same for our office back in New York.”

“Ooo, give me all the juicy gossip,” Jo says. “Inter-office affairs a big thing out there?”

Castiel almost wishes he hadn’t brought the matter up. He’ll have to be careful not to mention anything that could give he and Dean away. “No, not exactly,” he says carefully. “Mostly a great deal of back-stabbing and sabotage and desperate attempts to claw one’s way to the corner office.”

“Gross,” Jo says, wrinkling her nose. “We’re not like that at all down here. Maybe because there is no corner office, but maybe just because we understand teamwork a little better.”

“That’s certainly something we could stand to learn from you,” Castiel replies, and she gives him the most genuine smile he’s seen from her all day.

“You did good today,” she tells him as they reach the elevator. He’s surprised at how much it means to him, hearing her say that.

“Thank you,” he says. “Have a good night, Miss Harvelle.”

She rolls her eyes, but he can see her smiling as she walks away.

***

Their brief conversation concerning workplace relationships replays in Castiel’s mind as he makes his way back to his hotel and orders himself dinner. It’s not something he’s given a lot of thought to before, never bothering to pay much attention to interactions between his co-workers or having the desire to form anything other than a friendly relationship with them or with anyone he’s encountered on the job.

Not until now, at least. Not until Dean.

Of course, they aren’t even in a relationship. Castiel has no idea how to describe what’s happening between them. But something about what Jo said is bothering him, so he logs into his company’s information portal and clicks over to the employee handbook, scrolling through for anything that looks vaguely relevant. Finally, he finds a section on proper conduct in the workplace.

_Employees of Liberty Executive Solutions are expected to conduct themselves in a mature and professional manner at all times. We understand that working closely with like-minded individuals, whether within the office or while with clients, may lead to close personal connections being formed. There is no official policy that prohibits such relationships, but all employees are expected to adhere to our strict standards of professionalism at all times._

Castiel laughs at the vagueness of it all. He’s well-used to interpreting this kind of corporate language, though, and he understands exactly what is being said: the company can’t prevent its employees from entering into relationships, nor punish them for doing so, but would really rather not deal with any negative consequences from such relationships. 

He sighs with relief and closes the tab, clicking over to the news instead. He has nothing to be concerned about. He and Dean are fully consenting adults, and they are only co-workers for this brief window of time. Since Castiel is not an employee of the mining corporation itself, he has no direct influence over Dean that could be considered an abuse of power. It’s probably still not a _good_ idea, whatever it is that they’re doing, but...

He’s worrying too much, he knows, but that’s just what he does. 

The chime of his phone distracts him from his thoughts, and he accepts the call without even really looking at the screen, guessing it’s probably Balthazar or Meg. But instead, he’s greeted by the smooth tones of his brother Michael.

“Castiel!” he says. “Do you have time to chat?”

“Of course,” Castiel replies, shutting his computer and crossing the room to the armchair by the window. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“And you! Gabriel tells me you’re in Nevada? How’s the desert?”

“Arid,” Castiel says. “But interesting.”

“Never a dull moment at old Liberty,” Michael says with a laugh. “I miss it sometimes.”

“Surely, running your own company must be more exciting,” Castiel comments. He misses having Michael around at times as well. His older brother was the one who got him the job in the first place, and Castiel has worked his way up over the years, long after Michael had moved on to other ventures.

“It is,” Michael agrees. “I have all the power. All the responsibility too, of course, but I knew what I was getting myself into. But enough about work. How are you, Castiel, really?”

It’s a bit sad, but Castiel doesn’t really know how to answer that question without talking about work. “I’m fine,” he says.

“Fine,” Michael repeats flatly. “Oh, Cas. Surely there’s something interesting in your life? Have you been to Vegas? Are you going to go?”

“No, I haven’t been to Vegas,” Castiel laughs. “This isn’t a vacation, Michael.”

“Are you doing anything fun at all? I worry about you, you know.”

“I know,” Castiel says softly. And he appreciates Michael’s concern, really. There’s eight years between them, and Michael was always more of a parent to Castiel than an older brother. Their relationship has slowly shifted to a more equal one as Castiel has grown up, but Michael still tends to take a protective approach to him.

“I’m not here to have fun,” Castiel continues, “especially because I’m being considered for a promotion and this trip is a bit of a test-run.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Oh, that’s great, Cas.”

Castiel frowns at the clearly lack of enthusiasm in his brother’s voice. “You don’t sound thrilled.”

“I am, if that’s what you want,” Michael says slowly. “Is it what you want?”

“Of course,” Castiel answers. “It’s what I’ve been working for all these years, ever since you told me there was a position open at your job.”

“I know,” Michael says. “And I don’t regret that. You’ve done great things over the years, Cas, and I’m incredibly proud of you. But I don’t want you to be stuck in the same place for the rest of your life, either.”

“You’re the one who told me I needed stability!” Castiel stands and starts pacing the room, his free hand running through his hair in frustration. “Castiel, you need to get your act together and apply to college if you want any chance of succeeding in life. Castiel, you need to stop being so childish. Castiel, I have a job lined up for you. Don’t you remember all those conversations?”

“Of course I do!” Michael’s voice is raised, his words sharp. “And I feel so fucking guilty about all of them!”

Surprised, Castiel drops back into the chair. “Guilty?”

“Yes,” Michael sighs. “Cas, all those things I said to you, they were about what I wanted. I thought I was helping you, and maybe I was, but the time for that is long past. You don’t need my help anymore, you don’t need me to chase after you and pester you to get your life figured out.”

“I like my life,” Castiel protests. “Michael, I don’t know where I would have ended up if you hadn’t pestered me so much, but I doubt it would have been anywhere good.”

“I know,” Michael replies, and a hint of amusement creeps back into his voice. “You should really be more grateful. Send me fancier whiskey at Christmas. But look, all I’m saying is, if this promotion is what you really want, I’m beyond thrilled for you. But if it’s just another step to nowhere…”

“I’ll think about it,” Castiel promises. “Besides, nothing is decided yet. I’ve still got four more weeks here at least before anything would be announced.”

“So what are the chances you’re going to do something completely unpredictable and sabotage your chances entirely?” Michael asks. “You know, the usual Castiel Novak method.”

Castiel has to laugh at that. It’s a fairly accurate description of what he’s doing with Dean, but he isn’t about to tell Michael that. “I’m being perfectly respectable,” he insists. “Just as you taught me to.”

“Hold on, I have another call.” There’s a scuffle on the end other end of the line and a brief pause, and then Michael comes back, sounding annoyed. “There’s some sort of crisis at the office, I have to go in. I’m sorry to cut our conversation short.”

“Duty calls,” Castiel teases. “Go. You’ve given me plenty to think about.”

“I’ll call back soon,” Michael says. “Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Michael.”

Castiel ends the call and drops his phone, curling deeper into the armchair. In some ways, he’s grateful that Michael was called away. Even that brief conversation stirred up a number of thoughts Castiel normally devotes a great deal of energy to keeping buried in the back of his mind. Thoughts about the path his life has taken to this point, and the path he wants it to take in the future.

And he doesn’t only mean in terms of his career. The promotion is important to him, of course, but Michael made a valid point about it being a step to nowhere. It doesn’t mean anything deeper to Castiel, only another empty marker of that vague concept known as ‘success.’ Is that really all he wants from his life? 

If he’s going to be having an existential crisis, he definitely needs a drink.

Fortunately, Balthazar left half a bottle of red wine behind the other night, so Castiel pours himself a glass, sipping it slowly. Michael was certainly right about one thing: he has done well for himself over the years. He makes a more than comfortable living, and he’s good at his job. He likes his co-workers, for the most part, and doesn’t dread going in to work every morning like others often complain about. He has friends he likes spending time with, and he keeps himself in good shape and has no major health concerns.

There was a time he never would have imagined this kind of life for himself. His childhood was defined by small acts of rebellion like hiding classroom supplies or helping himself to the occasional candy bar from the corner store, at least until Michael caught him and gave him a stern talking-to. He never would have made it to college without his brother’s intervention, he knows, and while he’s well-aware that one doesn’t require a formal education to be successful, he’s grateful he went that direction. College taught him discipline, responsibility, all the elements of the strong work ethic that has served him so well since then.

If this promotion is truly what he’s been working towards all these years, why did only one short conversation with Michael cause so much doubt to creep into his mind? Castiel finishes the last of the wine and sets the glass down with a sigh. There’s not much sense worrying himself over it just yet. As he said, nothing will be decided for weeks. 

And tomorrow will be another long day without even the pleasure of seeing Dean’s face among the group of miners. 

***

Two more days pass at the site, boring and uneventful. There are conference calls back to the office in New York, meetings with various representatives from business affiliates in the area, an endless parade of suits and pencil skirts and fake smiles. Castiel fits in neatly with the rest of them, his hair smoothed back and his handshake firm, but inside, he’s screaming.

He refuses to admit to himself how much of his tension is due to Dean’s continued absence. They barely even like each other, for God’s sake. Whatever this is between them, they aren’t friends. So why does Castiel feel disappointed every time he encounters Dean’s team and doesn’t see his freckled face among them? 

By Wednesday evening, he’s seriously considering Michael’s joking reference to spending some time in Vegas. Anything to get away from the dull routine of the past few days. Instead, he decides to burn off some of his frustration with exercise, heading down to the hotel’s pool to do some laps. 

He feels better the instant he hits the water. Thankfully, the pool is deserted, so he splashes around a bit before beginning to swim back and forth, cutting through the water with the ease of long practice. In the water, his mind goes blissfully blank, all the muscles in his body working in conjunction.

He’s taking a short rest between laps when he hears his phone chime from where he left it on one of the chairs surrounding the pool. It’s probably just one of his co-workers, and he probably doesn’t need to answer it, but he pulls himself out of the water anyway and retrieves his phone.

The message is from Dean. _Hey, Cas_ is all it says.

Castiel wipes his hands dry on his towel, considering how to reply. He and Dean exchanged numbers before their encounter in Castiel’s hotel room, in case Dean got lost or delayed. But Dean never had occasion to use it that night, and Castiel hadn’t wanted to be the one to reach out first.

He’s incredibly glad that Dean clearly doesn’t have the same hang-ups that he does. 

_How are you enjoying your time off?_ There. Simple. He’ll let Dean dictate the tone of their discussion, since he was the one to begin it.

_Bored, honestly._

_Don’t you have anything fun to do?_ Castiel imagines Dean to have a busy social life. He’s so vibrant, so full of energy, and everyone seems to be so fond of him.

_Nah._

Well, it isn’t exactly encouraging that Castiel is a mere means to escape boredom for Dean, but he’ll take what he can get. He’s thinking of what to say in response when another message from Dean comes through.

_How about you? Have you been scaring all my teammates in my absence?_

Castiel grins. _No, I actually think Jo was quite impressed with me by the end of our shadowing session_.

_Jo’s softer than she likes to think she is. Just wait until I get back, I’ll put you back to work._

Though he doubts Dean’s words were intended as innuendo, they send a shiver of anticipation up Castiel’s spine. _I look forward to it_.

_What do you even do on your nights off? Hang out with the other consultants?_

This is more personal territory than they’ve waded into before, even if it’s still fairly superficial. Castiel smiles as he types out his reply. _Sometimes. Currently, I’m enjoying a nice evening swim. Or I was, until I had to get out of the pool to check my phone._

_Swimming, huh. I bet you look fantastic right now, shirtless and dripping water all over the place…_

Castiel coughs and looks around nervously, but there’s still no one in sight. He’s a bit startled by the abrupt shift in the tone of their conversation, but he supposes he might have a similar reaction if Dean suddenly mentioned he had just come out of the shower.

It’s not often that Castiel indulges in dirty texting, so he wants to make sure he and Dean are on the same page here. _Would you like to find out?_

Dean’s reply is instantaneous. _God yes._

Smirking slightly, Castiel snaps a few quick pictures of his torso, the curve of his jaw and the waistband of his swim trunks just visible at the edges of the shot. As Dean predicted, there are a few drops of water making their lazy way down his chest, and he selects the photo that highlights them best. 

_Fuck_. _You look even better than I was imagining. I wanna chase that drop of water with my mouth, watch you shiver underneath me._

Closing his eyes for a second, Castiel fights to regain control of his body. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten so turned on so quickly before. If they’re going to continue this conversation, he really ought to do the polite thing and vacate the public pool area.

He hurries back up to his room, and by the time he peels off his damp swimsuit and scrubs himself dry, there’s a new message from Dean. 

_Cas? Sorry, was that too much?_

_No, I merely thought I should retreat to the privacy of my own room if we’re going to continue this conversation…_

_I’d like that._

_As would I._

_What else would you like, then, hmn? Tell me._

The list is endless. There are so many things Castiel wants to do with Dean, to have Dean do to him…

_Surprise me._

_Oh, I will. Are you touching yourself, Cas?_

He hasn’t been, too focused on reading Dean’s messages and replying to them, but he recognizes a good idea when he hears one.

_I am now. Just lightly. My hands on my chest, teasing. Stroking lightly. A little pinch._

_That’s good. Bet it would be even better if it were my hands, huh?_

_Yes._

_You’re probably tired out from your swim. I’d touch you so gently, let you relax under me. Let your eyes close and all those little frown lines on your face smooth out. And then, just when you’re least expecting it, I’d move my hands a little lower, running all down your thighs without touching your cock. Is it hard for me, Cas?_

_Yes._ Castiel shouldn’t be surprised by how good Dean is at this. From what he’s seen so far, Dean is good at everything. _God, Dean, I’m so hard._

_That’s good. Don’t touch yourself there just yet, okay?_

Castiel lets out a whine, his hand resting low on his stomach, so close to where he wants it most, but he knows Dean will make it worth the wait. _Okay._

 _As a reward…_ After a brief pause, a picture comes through. Dean is wearing nothing but a self-satisfied smile, lounging against dark blue sheets with one hand wrapped loosely around his erection. Castiel groans at the sight, his own cock twitching against his leg. Dean would never know if he touched himself now, if he disobeyed, but Castiel wants to let this game go on for a bit longer.

_I want to feel that body pressed against mine._

_I know. And you will. I want you to lie there, just watching, while I kiss every inch of you. Keep your hands to yourself, clutching at your sheets. But you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from making such pretty noises for me, would you?_

_No. Dean, I need you to touch me. Please._ Of course, he’s really asking to touch himself, but he’s so lost in the vivid fantasy he doubts it would matter to his body at this point.

_Since you asked so nicely, go ahead and touch yourself for me, Cas. But let me see it._

With a groan of relief, Castiel wraps his hand around his hard length, stroking himself with just the right amount of pressure. He fumbles to snap a picture with his free hand, any artistry that he employed in the photo by the pool now lost.

_Yeah, just like that. God, you look so gorgeous like this._

It’s an unusual choice of words. _Gorgeous_. Not hot, or sexy, or something that seems to only encompass the physical. If he weren’t so consumed by his pleasure, he would probably dwell on that a lot longer.

_Dean, I need_

He can’t even finish the message, his breath rapid and laboured, the sound harsh in the silence of his hotel room.

_What do you need? Tell me._

Castiel shudders at the words. He’s enjoying this, of course he is, but he wants more. _I need to hear you._

His phone rings almost immediately, and Castiel scrambles to answer it, putting it on speaker right away. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is warm and low. Intimate. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes,” Castiel groans. Now that he doesn’t have to keep one hand free to text with, he runs it lightly up and down his chest while continuing to stroke himself with the other. 

“What are you thinking about?” Dean asks. There’s a hitch in his breath that tells Castiel he’s similarly affected, and it only fuels Castiel’s desire.

“Thinking about you, on top of me, all around me,” he says, his legs parting instinctively as he does. He can imagine it perfectly: Dean’s golden body poised above him, rutting forward to create delicious friction between them, both of them breathing heavily, skin slick with sweat.

“That sounds so good,” Dean gasps. “Yeah, wanna feel you against me, Cas. Feel that nice cock of yours. Grind up on you sweet and slow until we’re both gasping.”

“Dean--” It won’t take much longer. Castiel is close, so close. 

“Gonna come for me, Cas? Do it. Let me hear you.”

Two more strokes, and Castiel’s orgasm hits him like a freight train, the air punched from his lungs as he moans and spills over his stomach. 

Distantly, he hears Dean cursing under his breath. “Fuck, the way you sound--”

“I want to hear you, too,” Castiel manages, turning his head towards the phone resting on the bed beside him. “Dean. Please.”

A low groan echoes through the room, and then there’s only the sound of their breathing.

“Christ,” Dean mutters after a few minutes. “That was awesome.”

Castiel laughs, still trying to get his heart rate back to normal. “That’s one word for it.”

The silence is a bit strained. Castiel doesn’t really know what to say-- thanks for the phone sex? Hope to do it again sometime?

“I should go,” Dean says eventually. “Let you get some rest. You do have to work tomorrow, unlike me.” There’s a hint of teasing in his tone that puts Castiel at ease, puts them back in familiar territory.

“Shame on you for keeping me up this late,” he replies. 

“Yeah, whatever. You liked it.”

“I did,” Castiel confesses. More than he’ll ever admit. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

He should probably go get cleaned up, but Castiel stays where he is, running a hand through his hair as he grimaces at the mess on his stomach. His legs still feel shaky, so he just grabs a tissue from the bedside table and wipes himself down. The nice thing about staying in hotels is not having to do his own laundry. Pulling the covers up over his body, he turns on his side, away from the emptiness of the king-sized bed. 

His body is sated and content, but his mind is restless. Dean reached out to him first. Has he been thinking about Castiel, these past few days, or was it a spur of the moment decision? If it’s the first situation, has he been thinking about Castiel himself, or just about the pleasure they could find together?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself firmly. It’s just a matter of pride, wanting to know if he’s gotten under Dean’s skin the same way Dean has gotten under his, if he feels that same electric thrill at the thought of him. That same purely physical delight. Castiel can’t deny that he has a bit of a competitive streak-- it’s what makes him such a powerful player in the corporate world. He just wants to feel like he and Dean are on equal footing here, because he hates the thought of Dean having an unfair advantage over him.

He keeps reminding himself of that as he hugs one of the extra pillows to his chest, imagining it’s a warm body instead, and finally falls asleep. 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean’s eyes are closed, but he doesn’t need to see to know exactly where he is. The knowledge is there in the softness of the bed beneath him, the sound of quiet footsteps, the smell of pie coming from the kitchen.

That _smell_. 

Only one place smells like that, and that place is home.

Dean knows it’s a dream. He hasn’t been home in ages — at least the one he actually did consider his home. And even if he could visit again, he wouldn’t have _this_ — the soft footsteps, the smell of butter and apples, his mom’s quiet humming. It’s long gone now, and he knows it, which is why he stays where he is, unmoving, eyes still closed, warm underneath the heap of blankets he owned as a kid.

It’s been a while since he last dreamt of his mother.

When he finally moves, he realizes someone is in the bed with him. The feeling of _home_ is still there, but something is different now — there’s no more humming, no more footsteps. He knows his mom is gone even before someone touches his arm, lightly, and he opens his eyes.

Somehow, he’s not even surprised to see Cas’ bright blue eyes staring straight at him from where he’s lounging on the mattress beside him. Dean smiles. He knows what’s coming next, and he’s all in.

Except that it doesn’t. He _knows_ Cas is naked, and he knows he’s naked, himself, and they’re in bed together and they’re supposed to be doing something, _but they’re not_. Cas is touching Dean’s arm, and he’s staring and smiling and it’s warm beneath the covers and Dean thinks, briefly, _I’ve never been happier_ , because the smell of pie is still there, and the sun is falling in through the windows, and then he’s in Cas’ arms, and they’re both breathing hard and Dean realizes he’s spent and satisfied and feeling lazy, Cas’ warm lips trailing soft patterns on the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s struck with knowledge that they have just _made love_ , here, in this big bed, in a place that smells like home, and soon they will get up and make coffee and play footsie underneath the table and sit on the porch in the warm sun because neither of them has work today and this is the kind of morning Dean loves best.

Dean squeezes his eyes, hard, and feels the dream slip away slowly. The sun disappears, the bed covers turn scratchier and colder, the smell dissipates. His house doesn’t smell like anything, and he thinks he can actually hear the rain against the windows. Something icy and uncomfortable twists in Dean’s chest, and he presses a hand against his heart to block the ache, but it doesn’t stop.

He’s also alone in his bed, obviously, with no one to turn to, with no open arms that could hide him from the world. Dean scrunches up his face and refuses to open his eyes and face his reality. Not yet. 

No one is here to witness his wallowing anyway.

He tries to go back to the dream, to recreate the feeling of being enveloped in the warm embrace. Cas has never held him like that before, but he can easily imagine it: Cas’ broad shoulders and firm arms, his chest beneath Dean’s cheek, his breath against Dean’s hair. 

Dean huffs, frustrated — it would have been easier if he simply had a sex dream. He knows how it is by now, he knows exactly what sounds Cas makes when Dean touches him, what his skin feels like when they’re close. Fucking is easy. It’s pressing and pulling and giving and taking, and it’s fast and messy and hot and Dean likes it oh so much, he loves seeing Cas like this, he loves knowing he’s the one that made Cas like this. 

The dream didn’t give Dean any of it. He sighs again, trying to visualise it himself — so they were in bed together, and Cas was touching his arm. That hand could easily slide lower, grab Dean’s hips, pull him in closer. They’d kiss, and Cas would touch him, and — 

Dean opens his eyes to glare at the dull ceiling above. Where would Cas touch him first? His dick would be the most obvious choice, but maybe he’d go for it from the other side, kind of like that time when he touched him with a single finger back in Crowley’s office. Or maybe they’d just rut against each other, come without touching. Maybe Dean would move down, beneath the covers, and suck Cas off, or they could suck each other off, or —

Dean’s thoughts trail off. He blinks and looks down, realising he’s not even remotely hard. He pushes his hand into his boxers anyway and starts jerking off. 

“Think sexy thoughts,” he mutters angrily. He feels ridiculous immediately after, and slows down a bit, wincing at the roughness of his own hand. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it’s Cas touching him instead. “Yeaah,” he moans quietly. He bites down on his lips, moves his hips. “Yeah, Cas, just like that.”

His chest is still tight, his hand dry and too slow. Dean stops and punches the mattress, swearing. Maybe it’d go better with lube. Or in the shower. Or he could take out the box from beneath his bed and find something to play with — 

Instead, he lies there, sulking and not hard at all, for nearly half an hour before finally giving up and getting out of bed to get breakfast.

What’s going on with him, for God’s sake?

***

Sam calls him when he’s on his second cup of coffee of the day.

At first, he considers not picking up. He’s having a bad enough day, what with the rain and stupid dreams and too much free time, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to talk to his brother right about now. Especially not if all Sam wants to talk about is how he’s so happy he’s going to Hawaii next month and how he’s already packing and planning and researching _Top 10 Must See Places_ and _Fun Things To Do With Your Significant Other On Vacation_.

Gross.

He’s only talked to Sam a few times after Cas returned his phone, and most of those conversations have been stilted and a bit awkward, both of them still partly mad and sullen. Dean knows there’s a possibility it’s going to go exactly the same this time, too, and yet he still picks up after a few rings.

“Dean?” Sam asks tentatively.

Dean almost smiles. Almost.

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Who else could it be.”

“I don’t know, it’s happened before,” Sam says lightly. “What was that guy’s name? Cassiel?”

“Castiel,” Dean says stiffly. “And it was one time. I mean, I told you. He just grabbed my phone by mistake.”

“Yes, Dean, I remember,” Sam says. “And I’m joking, okay? You were never shy about your one-night-stands, I’d know if that was the case.”

“Uh,” Dean manages, and slurps his coffee instead of talking.

Sam is silent for exactly five long seconds. 

“Oh, shit,” he says then, and Dean closes his eyes. “You _did_ sleep with him! The phone mix-up was a lie?”

“It wasn’t,” Dean says quickly. “He took my phone for real.”

“...was that after you hooked up?”

“No!” Dean huffs. “We didn’t— I mean. Uh. We didn’t hook up then.”

He realizes Sam is never letting go of the subject now when he hears his loud intake of breath. 

“But you did hook up later?”

“Why are we talking about this, again?” Dean snaps.

Sam has an audacity to laugh then. “Uh, because it’s fun?”

“It’s fun to talk about my sex life?” Dean asks.

“No, it’s fun because you’re getting defensive,” Sam teases.

“What?” Dean splutters. “I am _not_ getting anything.”

“Yes, you are. You always brag about your hookups and only get shy when it means something. It’s _fun_.”

“You’re an idiot. It doesn’t mean anything. There’s nothing going on here and it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, yeah. So, when can I meet him?”

“What the fuck, Sam. It’s just sex.”

Sam lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh my God. Just sex? Are you actually hearing yourself? Also, does that mean it happened more than once?”

“Bye, Sam,” Dean snaps. He doesn’t hang up, though, and Sam knows it.

“Okay, okay. Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear any details, anyway. Just, uh. Are you guys being safe?”

Dean lets out a groan which is muffled by Sam’s loud laugh. He briefly considers retaliating by sharing a few embarrassing details and making Sam regret he even brought up the subject, but he quickly drops the idea. For some reason, he doesn’t want to tell Sam about what’s happening with him and Cas. He doesn’t really want anyone to know.

He should stop and think about what it really means, but then Sam stops laughing and starts talking again.

“Anyway, that’s actually not why I’m calling.”

“Wow,” Dean mutters. “Really? Shocker.”

“Shut up,” Sam says with a chuckle. “But, yeah. I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“Other than being mocked by my little pain-in-the-ass brother? I’m peachy.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam says. “You sure sound like it.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I was perfectly fine until you called.”

“Obviously,” Sam says. “So, I take it you’re enjoying your week off? Going out and meeting people and not sulking alone at home all the time?”

“You know me too well,” Dean says.

“I knew it,” Sam says. “Which is why I was thinking maybe you should come visit me.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“Well, we talked about how you get a week off and I don’t and I can’t visit you but it’s not so far and it would be awesome to see—”

“Did you forget that we also talked about how I use that week to sleep? And, you know, get some free time after two weeks of non-stop work?” Dean snaps.

Sam doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean says. “Also, I only have a few days left. Maybe if you thought about this earlier, I could have considered it, but to be honest, I don’t really wanna waste my last free days driving—”

“Oh. _Waste_ your last free days?” Sam repeats harshly. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean bites. “You don’t see. You think it’s so easy, don’t you, for me to just drop everything and come visit you. You never bother because you’re always so busy and important, but whatever, screw my job, it doesn’t matter if I kill myself working here, does it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam asks, incredulous. “Who said anything about killing yourself working? Jesus, Dean, if your job is so hard on you, then just quit. I keep trying to make you understand—”

“ _Just quit_? Listen, maybe it’s easy for you, okay. You’re getting a degree. You’re gonna be a fancy lawyer or some other shit and you will have multiple job offers and you will choose the one you like best, and you can _just quit_ whenever you like because it won’t matter, because the next offer is gonna be there, already lined up for you. Well, newsflash, I don’t have a degree. I don’t have job offers just waiting for me to pick them. All I know is mining, and if I quit, I have nothing.”

“Dean—”

“No, Sam,” Dean snaps. “It’s easy for you to say, I know. And I know you’ve never really treated my job seriously. But I really need you to at least try.”

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam huffs. “I only wanted to see you. It’s been a while.”

Dean grinds his teeth and take a moment to just breathe instead of screaming at his brother. “Then maybe you should’ve moved your ass and come visit me sometime, or, I dunno, invited me before I made plans for my week off.”

Sam exhales loudly. “Oh. So… you do have plans?”

Dean bites down on his lip. “Maybe,” he says begrudgingly. 

“What are they?” Sam asks. Dean can tell he’s trying to sound excited instead of disappointed, and it makes something painful twist in his stomach.

“They’re not that important,” he says slowly, thinking of the evening he spent texting with Cas, the one that ended in the best phone sex he’s ever had. He kind of wants to try that again — or maybe try something even better, like meeting in person. “But you can’t just spring those kind of ideas on me out of nowhere, Sam. Believe it or not, I do have a life here.”

“I know,” Sam sighs. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… you know. Imply that you don’t.”

“Mhm,” Dean mutters. “I know.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, awkward after the small fight, and Dean knows Sam is trying to think of ways to lift Dean’s spirits now. He’s still too grumpy to help him though, so he just waits.

“So,” Sam says, hesitant. “Last days of freedom. What are you thinking?”

“Uh,” Dean mutters.

“Oh, wait,” Sam says, and of course he _knows_ , Dean doesn’t even need to say a word and the kid knows. “Are you planning to see _Castiel_ again?”

“Geez, don’t say it like that,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“Like what?” Sam laughs. “Tell me more about him.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dean grumbles. “I told you, it’s strictly physical, and you really don’t want me to delve into that. Trust me,” he says, smirking to himself.

“Uh-huh,” Sam sing-songs. “If it’s _strictly physical_ , why do I hear yearning in your voice?”

“The fuck? What are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about,” Sam says gleefully, the little shit that he is. “You like him but you’re not sure if he likes you back.”

“No, Sam. What we do is have sex. Lots and lots of sex,” Dean says, but for some reason it sounds so false, he has trouble believing himself. “Nothing else.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam says. “I’m just saying, just sex is never _just sex_. I know you. And I’ve heard you talk about this stuff my whole life, so I can really tell the difference.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. He sounds as if he’s grinning. “So, is he on your team or something?”

“You could say that,” Dean murmurs.

“Aw, Dean. Just be careful, alright? You know workplace romances don’t always work out the way we want them to.”

Dean huffs. “Save that speech, Sam. I’m not gonna like, fall in love with him or anything. There won’t be any drama, so don’t worry about me.”

“Dean, I always worry about you,” Sam says. “I’m your brother.”

Dean doesn’t have an answer for that, not really, so he just lets Sam talk for a little bit longer, and then promises to call soon and hangs up. 

Automatically, he reaches for the cup of coffee in front of him, only to realize it’s gone completely cold. Somehow, he doesn’t even have any energy left to get mad. Conversations with Sam can be like that sometimes — emotionally draining, as if he has just exposed himself to Sam’s scrutiny. He’s really the only person that can get under Dean’s skin like that — make him angry and emotionally tired and sorry for himself, all at the same time.

Well, Dean guesses, now there’s also Cas. Cas, who is insanely hot and annoying as hell and they have all that amazing chemistry and mind-blowing sex but, for some reason, Dean feels tired, so tired of having to tiptoe around him after they’re done. For once, he thinks, for once he’d just like to have some fun without thinking about it. Is it so bad that they just use each other for their bodies? They’re both consenting adults. They both want it. 

Sam doesn’t know shit. Dean isn’t pining, because Dean doesn’t even _like_ Cas. He likes his body — his lips, his hands, his cock. He likes hearing Cas’ moans of pleasure, likes watching his face when he comes. It’s all physical, just like he said. Emotions are complicated, and he doesn’t need them to have a good time.

He smirks when he feels his own dick perk up curiously. Ah, there it is. 

When he grabs his phone to text Cas, he doesn’t think about _feelings_. He’s gotten enough feelings talk from Sam for today, and so he’s just gonna go and forget all about it while he gets Cas all hot and bothered and enjoys the hell out of it.

Sam is wrong. He isn’t pining because Cas is willing to give him everything he needs, and _feelings_ are just completely unnecessary.

***

_Can I come over?_

They’ve been flirting the entire day. Dean tries to find new ways to occupy his thoughts, but they keep circling back to Cas. He has no idea how Cas can possibly concentrate on anything at work, but if his immediate response, _Yes_ , tells Dean anything, it’s that at the end of the day, both of them are more than eager to finally do more than just shameless texting.

For some reason, however, getting over to Cas’ hotel takes Dean much more time than anticipated. He takes a shower, puts on fresh clothes, dabs his neck with cologne, then curses himself for being ridiculous and tries to rub it off with the hem of his shirt. He ends up changing the shirt and almost running out of the house to prevent himself from acting even more stupid.

The ride to the hotel and then up in the elevator seems to be taking forever, and Dean tries to psych himself up for what’s about to come. He’s got a specific goal in mind and he should stick to it and completely ignore the part of him that keeps reminding him of Sam’s teasing words. 

Sam is wrong. And anyway, Cas would never expect anything of that sort from him. Dean highly doubts Cas spares even one second to think about his _feelings_ , and it’s obvious he doesn’t expect anything apart from what they’re already doing with each other. Dean tries to school his features into something more relaxed and confident. He’s here to have sex with a hot guy, and that’s it. Cas will already be waiting for him, and they’ll just do it, quick and dirty, and then it’ll be over. 

Easy.

Finally at Cas’ door, Dean takes a deep breath and knocks. The sound is eager and impatient, and Dean bounces on his feet as he waits. When he has to knock again and Cas still doesn’t open the door, Dean frowns and pulls out his phone. Maybe Cas changed his mind, had to go out, but Dean didn’t notice? And yet, there are no messages. Dean is about to knock for the third time and then simply walk away, but then the doorknob turns and the door opens.

Cas stands there, barefoot, white shirt crumpled, a frown on his face and his hair sleep-mussed. He looks confused for a few long seconds and they both just stand there, blinking at each other and not saying anything.

Then, finally, Cas seems to realize what he’s seeing. 

“Dean,” he says, and his voice is a low rumble, as if he hasn’t used it in ages.

“Uh, hey,” Dean says. “I… I mean… Were you… asleep?”

Castiel blinks owlishly at him. “Oh. Yes. I must have fallen asleep. I just wanted to rest my eyes a little.”

Dean can’t help it; he laughs. So this is how exciting it is to wait for him. 

Cas realizes he’s still holding the door open, and he moves away and gestures for Dean to come inside. Dean tries not to stare at his bare feet too much, but they look so out of place that he can’t stop. 

“Feel better now?” Dean asks.

Cas runs a hand through his already messy hair, drawing Dean’s attention to it. He looks so… soft like this, sleep-warm and open and relaxed, and Dean wants nothing more than to keep him close and breathe in the smell of his skin.

“I do,” Cas says. Dean needs a moment to remember what they’re talking about. “I’m going to keep the light low, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Dean mumbles. Cas pushes himself off the door and Dean’s chance to press him against it and kiss him senseless disappears before he can do anything about it. He barely notices that Cas turns off the big lamp hanging from the ceiling, leaving only a smaller bedside lamp on, because he’s too busy staring at Cas’ untucked shirt, which is showing skin above his waistband.

“Do you want something to drink?” Cas asks, tilting his head to the side and sending Dean an innocent look.

Jesus. Dean was sure they’d jump each other as soon as the door opened and get down to business, but apparently Cas is still feeling pretty out of it after his nap. Dean decides he should remind him why he’s here and moves forward with purpose.

“No,” he says. “Come here.”

He watches as Cas’ eyes widen, but doesn’t stop to give him time to adjust, leaning in instead and catching Cas’ lips in a kiss. Cas lets out a soft sound of surprise and grabs Dean by the shoulders to steady himself.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he mutters into Cas’ mouth, eager to finally move things forward. “Couldn’t wait for you to finish work.”

Cas scrambles to keep hold of him, his lips pliant and his kisses lazy. Dean puts his hands on Cas’ hips, pulls him in, teases Cas’ lips open with his tongue, and Cas turns to jelly in his arms. His arms encircle Dean’s neck and pull him down, sighing into Dean’s mouth as they kiss, pressing his entire body against Dean’s. Dean’s mind is reeling and he pulls away just to breathe, and then Cas is moving in and mouthing sweetly at his neck and nosing at his ear. 

“Should we—” Dean tightens his grip on Cas’ hips when Cas sucks a gentle kiss against the soft skin behind Dean’s ear. “Should we, ahh, move this someplace—”

“Mhm, yes,” Cas hums, dropping tiny kisses along Dean’s jaw. 

“Bed?” Dean asks, and he refuses to admit his voice is already shaking. All they’re doing is making out. It shouldn’t be enough to make him feel this way — and yet, somehow, it is.

“Yes,” Cas whispers and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck to pull him forward, in the direction of the bed. Dean goes willingly and doesn’t have it in himself to protest when Cas turns them around and gently pushes Dean down onto the mattress before joining him.

Finally.

Cas gets back to kissing, unhurried, almost tender. They’re barely even touching, Dean’s hands useless by his sides, his eyes closed. Cas’ bed is comfortable and still warm, and the pillows smell just like him. Dean turns his head and buries his face in them, and Cas wastes no time in latching onto his neck to kiss and suck and lick and nip and turn Dean into a whimpering mess. He doesn’t think he remembers just kissing ever feeling this good, and he’s not sure what to think of that. Other than, of course, wanting more of it. 

Cas drops the tiniest of kisses against his jaw and cheeks and temples, and Dean feels his fingers comb through the fine hair at the base of his neck. Dean presses closer, mouths at Cas’ throat and grips him by the arms while Cas pulls him in and continues to pet his hair. It feels so good to be touched like this, and Dean forgets himself for a while, lets himself be carried away, turned relaxed and pliant.

Cas moves to kiss him again, deep and slow, and Dean feels his hand rub gently against the front of his jeans. His eyes open and he gasps into Cas’ mouth, completely in awe that Cas managed to distract him so thoroughly with his mouth that he didn’t even notice when he got hard.

“Cas,” he moans, hips jerking up, slowly, into Cas’ hand. “More.”

Cas licks against his lips, keeps touching him, but doesn’t change the pressure of his hand, making Dean squirm and sigh and whimper in his arms. Dean wants more, needs more, needs Cas to put his hands on him, to take off his clothes, touch him, make him sweat and see stars. 

“Cas,” Dean nearly whines. He’s feeling too relaxed to do anything more than this, and he’s sure Cas knows it very well and intends to take full advantage of that. 

“Shh, Dean,” Cas murmurs against his lips. “Let me. Let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “Please.”

Cas’ fingers play with the button of Dean’s jeans, slide inside to cup him through his underwear. Dean lets out a prolonged sigh and squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back as Cas rubs him through his boxers and leaves a trail of wet kisses against the side of his neck. 

“Cas,” Dean grunts. He turns his head and meets Cas’ lips, catches them in a hungry kiss, bucks his hips up into Cas’ palm. “Fuck. You smell so good,” he slurs, nosing at Cas’ jawline, pushing his face against his neck.

Cas lets out a low groan. “Dean,” he says, voice rough. “Take off your clothes for me.”

Dean pushes himself up into Cas’ hand with a gasp. “Ye-yeah, okay. Okay.”

Cas’ touch disappears, then, and Dean opens his eyes and looks over at Cas stretched out on the bed beside him. He holds his gaze and, blushing furiously, slowly pushes his jeans down along with his boxers and socks. Cas doesn’t look away from him. Then he moves in, closing the distance between them again, and takes Dean’s cock into his hand and starts stroking him slowly, the tiniest jerks of his wrist and the most delicious roughness of his palm making Dean crazy with want.

Dean moans and writhes on the bed, fingers pushing into the mattress, hips moving to meet the rhythm of Cas’ hand. Cas kisses him again, their kisses hot and wet and sloppy, and the sound of their bodies meeting like that is almost enough to push Dean over the edge.

Almost.

Cas pulls away then, tugs on Dean’s shirt, helps him take it off. He’s still fully dressed and Dean is naked and flushed and leaking beneath him, and if he weren’t already incredibly turned on, this would surely leave him gasping and begging for more.

Cas moves again, hands soft on Dean’s naked thighs, spreading them open, gentle, so gentle. Dean sighs and lets him do whatever he wants, watches as Cas kneels down in between his legs, as he takes him into one hand again, the other sliding down his thigh.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice raspy, leaning down to mouth at his jaw. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” Dean nearly sobs. His legs fall open even wider, already eager, so eager to welcome Cas in, and when Cas’ hand slides down and down and brushes against his hole, he gasps and swears and jerks up into Cas’ fingers. “Fuck. Fuck, Cas, please.”

“Shh,” Cas murmurs, kissing the side of his face. His hand disappears only to be back a moment later, and it’s cold and wet now and Dean almost yelps when he feels a finger pressing into him, hard and unrelentless. He takes him in, panting softly and staring up at the side of Cas’ face, and Cas doesn’t stop even for a second, pushing in and out, in and out, gently at first, then quicker and with more certainty. Dean wriggles and gasps into his ear, and soon Cas adds another finger, and then another, and Dean loves the feeling of it, being so full, stretched open, having Cas so close and wanting him even closer. 

Cas moves in and out, and his other hand takes hold of Dean’s forgotten cock again. Dean moans, fucks himself onto Cas’ fingers, and he needs more, so much more.

“Cas,” he whispers. “Cas, come on.”

“Dean?” Cas murmurs hotly against his lips. He’s stroking him in earnest now, determined to push Dean over the edge with just his hands and fingers.

It’s not enough.

“I need you,” Dean says breathlessly, then catches himself. “Please, come on, I want you.”

Cas’ hands disappear, slowly, and he pulls away to look into Dean’s eyes. Dean reaches out, touches Cas’ face, unashamed.

“I want you,” he whispers, “inside me. Please, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas gasps, brokenly, but then he’s moving down, kissing Dean hard, pressing him into the mattress with his entire body. 

Dean revels in it, in the feel of Cas’ weight all over him, the scratch of Cas’ clothes against his naked skin.

“Are you sure?” Cas whispers, even though he’s already moving, reaching for the bedside table. Dean nods, pulls Cas’ zipper down, tugs on his rumpled shirt. It’s awkward for a moment, Cas backing away to get rid of his clothes and tear open a condom packet, and then he’s rolling it on himself, lubing himself up, and moving back in between Dean’s legs.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean repeats and lifts his legs.

They kiss when Cas pushes in, slowly, with groans of pleasure escaping his lips. Dean licks them straight out of his mouth, takes him in, eyes squeezed shut. His hands scramble to get a grip on something, anything, especially when Cas bottoms out and then starts moving, the tiniest jerks of his hips, pushing in and pulling out, tearing loud gasps out of Dean. 

“Dean, you feel—” Cas sounds so thoroughly _fucked_ , it’s incredible.

“I know,” Dean says and moans as Cas grinds into him. It’s so slow and intimate, Dean thinks he’s not going to last even a second more. “Fuck, I know.”

“Shit,” Cas curses. He leans in to kiss Dean, but ends up panting into his mouth as he pushes in, and in, and in. “Dean, oh, God, Dean—”

Dean scratches his fingers against the mattress, jerks his hips up to meet Cas halfway. He feels Cas’ hands catch his wrist and opens his eyes, meets Cas’ dark gaze as Cas slides in and hits his prostate. Dean groans, grips Cas’ hands tight, letting their fingers twine together as they move and grind and pant.

Dean can’t look away, so he doesn’t, staring up into Cas’ eyes just like Cas keeps watching him, their hands clasped and bodies melting into one. Dean’s been close for what seems like forever, so it doesn’t take long until he’s coming in hot white spurts all over his stomach, mouth parted on a soundless moan, fingers gripping Cas’ hands tightly. Cas looks at him the whole time, and then he moves down and kisses him, and it’s so sweet and soft it makes Dean’s eyes water.

Cas comes only a moment later, and then sags into Dean’s body, panting heavily against the side of Dean’s face. Dean lets himself enjoy the closeness for a bit, too dazzled to even think about moving. He realizes they’re still holding hands when Cas moves to pull out of him and get rid of the condom, and he quickly rolls away without meeting Cas’ eyes.

They’re quiet as they clean themselves. Dean feels wrung out, all of a sudden, and it’s not only physical exhaustion — it’s the feeling as if someone has struck him on the head, repeatedly, making him dizzy and confused.

He wants to say something — fuck, he needs to say something. But Cas isn't looking at him, and he’s already moving off the bed, gathering up his clothes and pulling them on hastily. Dean doesn’t want to be the only one naked, so he moves too, and he’s so clumsy, so obviously shaken, he’s sure Cas must see his fingers tremble when they button his pants and pull on his shirt — but, oh, right, Cas isn’t looking. Cas is facing the other way, and his shoulders are stiff and he’s quiet, so quiet it suddenly feels cold in the room.

Fuck.

Dean pretends he doesn’t feel the pleasant burn between his legs when he stands up, doesn’t even wince, doesn’t dare to look back at the mess they left on the bed. He’s a little wobbly, but he knows he’ll be alright in a second, and anyway, he can probably take a moment to catch his breath in the car.

Yes. His car. Dean needs to go, and he needs to go _now_.

He has no idea what just happened — except for the fact that he let his guard down and Cas must have seen him for what he really is — a needy, whiny, sentimental moron — and now he can’t even look at him because obviously, this is not what they agreed on, is it? 

Dean tries to find something to say — _anything_ , really — but his mouth is completely dry and he’s lost the ability to speak. He clears his throat, sends Cas one last look — but of course, he’s not looking back — and then closes his mouth and flees the room.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s cowardly of him, but Castiel finds himself relieved that Dean still has a few days off work after that night. He types out a hundred different messages, ranging from the serious to the flirtatious to the downright salacious, then deletes them all. Dean makes no effort to contact him either, and that’s what convinces Castiel he’s doing the right thing in giving them some room to breathe. 

Years ago, Michael came home from a parent-teacher conference with Castiel’s junior year Biology teacher and sat Castiel down in their living room, wearing his most responsible eldest brother expression. “You know what Ms. Brown told me, Cas?” he said, and Castiel gave some flippant reply about being the best student in the class. Michael shook his head, a little sadly, and said, “Close. She told me you could be the best student in the class if only you would stop sabotaging yourself.”

Castiel has never forgotten that conversation, and has done his best to tamp down that tendency for self-sabotage ever since. He thinks, however, he might have slipped in his efforts the other night. 

Maybe it was the fact that he was still half-asleep when Dean knocked on his door that night, lending an air of dreamlike haziness to the scene, or the way Dean turned down his offer of a drink and launched himself at Castiel like he was drowning without him. Like he needed him. 

Or maybe it was just the way they finally had time and space to explore each other’s bodies at length, no fear of being interrupted, that caused Castiel to let down his guard and finally worship Dean the way he wanted to. To take his time with him, to really _feel_ it.

And that’s the problem. There isn’t supposed to be anything to feel, other than pure physical sensation. No wonder Dean could barely look at him afterwards, no wonder he left without a word. Castiel is sure he made Dean feel good, he knows Dean enjoyed the physical acts they shared, but judging by this silence between them, something went wrong.

Dean comes back to work, and when Castiel sees him from across the cafeteria, Dean’s eyes meet his for only a split-second before Dean looks away. There’s a possibility he’s only trying to be discreet, trying not to draw any attention to their not-entirely-professional relationship, but Castiel suspects it’s more than that. 

He shouldn’t have let himself get carried away, shouldn’t have lost control with Dean. Shouldn’t have gotten swept up in his own turbulent feelings. Now things are tense between them, and not in the delicious way they were before, when they would both sneak lusty glances at each other or sneak off during lunch breaks for intense makeout sessions in the office. It’s _awkward_ now, and Castiel hates it.

He just wants things to go back to the way they were before.

When Crowley pairs off the miners and the consultants for another shadowing session, Castiel is once again assigned to work with Jo. He tries not to be disappointed about it. He glances at Dean when the announcement is made, and there’s a look on his face that Castiel can’t decipher: relief, possibly? He tears his eyes away and offers Jo a weak smile, hoping he can manage to pay attention to at least some of what she’ll be showing him.

He makes it through the entire day, then goes back to his hotel and turns off his phone, puts the privacy sign on the door, and flops onto the bed, incredibly grateful for hotel laundry service ensuring no traces of Dean’s cologne linger on the sheets.

His luck runs out the next day. He and Dean are assigned to work together, and Castiel swears there’s a knowing twinkle in Crowley’s eyes as he reads off their names. He’s tempted to say something, to make some feeble protest, but he knows it would only raise questions he isn’t prepared to answer. 

He is a professional, and so is Dean. Their relationship, such as it is, isn’t supposed to have any effect on their work. So Castiel squares his shoulders and gives Dean his best corporate smile, the one he uses to charm board members and clients alike. 

Dean blinks at him, and then a tentative smile appears on his own face. It would appear they are in agreement.

“Did you enjoy the rest of your break?” Castiel asks politely as they work their way through the tunnels. They’ve never been much for small talk, but it’s a safe topic for now. 

“It was okay, I guess,” Dean answers. “Caught up on some movies I hadn’t gotten to see, slept in a lot. Pretty typical.”

“I’m glad it was restful,” Castiel says. 

“Yeah, well, it’s always nice to have time off, but it’s nice to be back, too,” Dean says, patting the wall of the tunnel fondly. “I guess I’m used to this place now. Gets weird, all that sunlight and fresh air out there.”

Castiel laughs, but there’s no real mirth in it. There’s something deeply sad at the core of Dean’s words, and he wants to ask him about it, to ask him how he ended up spending his life down here in the dirt and dark when he should be up in the world above where he belongs, the rays of the sun glinting off his gold-tipped eyelashes. But he doesn’t ask, because it’s not his place. His place is to be an escape for Dean, a release for both their bodies, a mutual physical satisfaction, and he must be content with that.

But Dean is good at what he does, there’s no denying it. He’s patient and thorough as he explains to Castiel what they’re working on, but the teasing that marked their earlier sessions is entirely absent. Dean isn’t cold with him, but he’s careful, more controlled. Like he doesn’t want to give Castiel any room to misinterpret things again. 

It’s almost a relief when they break for lunch and Dean gives him a cool nod before walking off to join his friends, the change in his demeanour immediately noticeable. He slings an arm over Jo’s shoulders and laughs at something Max says, leaving Castiel staring after him with an unfamiliar sinking sensation in his stomach. 

“Castiel, there you are,” Balthazar says, coming to stand beside him. “We have the conference call in five minutes, come on.”

Castiel gives him a blank look. “Conference call?”

Scowling, Balthazar takes him by the elbow and steers him towards the elevator. “Yes, the conference call with our dear superiors. We’ve been here three weeks now, Cas, it’s time for our report. I know they pay me to remember things for you, but honestly, how could you have forgotten?”

 _I’ve had other things on my mind_ , Castiel is tempted to reply, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. “I was just testing you,” he says instead, aiming for a flippant tone and probably missing by a mile. “Making sure their money isn’t going to waste.”

“They ought to pay me twice as much as they do,” Balthazar mutters, “especially after this trip. Lord, I can’t wait to get home.”

Castiel doesn’t want to think about it, but now he’s forced to. They’re halfway through their visit. In another few weeks, they’ll be gone, back to their usual lives, back to air-conditioning and ergonomic office furniture and non-fat lattes rather than coffee from the industrial-size coffee-maker in the canteen. Back to long days at the office and boring nights at home, drinks with co-workers in overpriced bars and maybe some mild flirtation with an attractive person at the gym.

It should fill Castiel with some sort of longing, some sort of homesickness, but it doesn’t.

There’s no time to reflect on that, which is probably for the best. Balthazar ushers him into the shared office, where Hannah and Meg are waiting for them, and after a few minutes of fiddling with various devices, Zachariah’s voice fills the room, even more grating than usual due to a poor connection.

“Good afternoon, team!” he says, and Castiel is grateful they didn’t feel the need for a video chat, allowing him to roll his eyes at the obviously fake cheerfulness in his boss’ voice. “Just over halfway through your visit. Big things!”

“Yes, sir,” Meg replies. “Did you get the reports we sent over this morning?”

“I did, but I haven’t looked at them,” Zachariah replies, and Hannah looks so offended at the thought, Castiel almost laughs. “I’d rather hear it in your own words.”

Balthazar scribbles something on a piece of a paper and pushes it towards Castiel. _We already used our own words. In the reports._ Castiel gives him what’s meant to be a stern look but ruins the effect by turning his laugh into a cough as Meg pulls up the report they sent earlier that morning and starts reading sections of it out loud.

Zachariah makes little noises of agreement, asks for clarification a few times, and when the entire report has been neatly summarized, he says, “Fantastic. Now that’s what I like to hear, solid, off-the-cuff, from-the-heart work, Masters.”

“Thank you, sir,” Meg replies, so dryly it’s a wonder Zachariah doesn’t seem to pick up on her tone. 

“Novak,” Zachariah says, startling Castiel from the doodles he’d been scribbling on his notepad, “how are you finding the visit so far?”

“Educational, certainly,” Castiel replies, casting a nervous glance at Meg, who just shrugs and gestures for him to continue. Why has he been singled out? Is it because of the potential promotion, or something else?

“Good, good. Learnings lots? Making friends?”

Castiel almost lets loose a snort. Friends, sure. “We’ve established good working relationships,” he says carefully.

“Good, good,” Zachariah says again. “You know, I worried about all of you, having to spend six weeks with all those miners. But don’t worry, the light at the end of the tunnel is closer and closer every day!”

No one laughs, instead trading incredulous glances. “Those miners?” Hannah mouths silently, then makes a stabbing gesture towards the phone with her pen. 

“Because of the mines? Tunnels?” Zachariah continues. “Oh, come on, people, it’s a joke.”

“Of course, sir,” Castiel says tightly. The only thing worse than Zachariah being overly serious and focused on a project is Zachariah trying to be funny. Castiel purposefully knocks over the mug holding a variety of pens, sending it crashing to the ground.

“What was that?” Zachariah asks.

“We’re losing our connection,” Castiel replies, deliberately making his voice sound scratchier than normal. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

Then he ends the call and unplugs the phone.

Balthazar whistles into the sudden silence. “That was cold, Cas,” he says, but he nods approvingly. 

“Thank you,” Meg groans. “What a fucking asshole.”

Even Hannah’s normally composed face is flushed with irritation. “Those miners!” she says again. “Who the hell does he think he is, and how dare he project his classist attitudes onto us and expect us to laugh along with him!”

Castiel rubs his hands over his face. “Because he’s a fucking asshole,” he mumbles. “I almost forgot how much I hate him. This trip has been worth it if only for the time away from him.”

The others murmur their agreement. “Hopefully next time Naomi will reach out instead,” Meg says. “She’s a hard-ass, but she’s fair. We can work with her.”

“I’m so relieved Zachariah didn’t want to come on this trip himself,” Balthazar says. “Can you imagine the reception from this lot, him coming in here with that attitude?”

Castiel almost smiles at the thought. The miners would have probably murdered him by now, and Castiel wouldn’t blame them. He’s actually rather impressed with himself for ending the call like that. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he doesn’t think Zachariah will realize it was intentional.

“Are we done here?” he asks. “That was….stressful, to say the least.”

“Get out of here,” Meg says, gentler than usual. “You did us all a favour, Cas, we can handle the post-meeting review.”

Castiel lifts a hand in a listless wave and leaves the office, slumping against the wall with a heavy sigh. He would really like a drink, but there are people passing through the halls around him casting him curious glances, probably wondering what he’s doing just standing there by himself. Castiel pushes off from the wall and heads towards the canteen. If he can’t have alcohol, coffee will have to do.

Luckily for him, the canteen is clearing out as he enters, a wave of workers nodding to him as they head back to their posts. Castiel makes a beeline for the coffee maker and pours himself a mug, adding cream and sugar though he often prefers it black. He wants the extra calories and fat right now. He turns, looking for a quiet place to sit, and practically bumps into Dean, who has come up behind him without making a sound.

“Christ,” Castiel mutters, righting his mug before it spills all over him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Dean says, frowning. “Cas? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel replies automatically. “Just needed a coffee.”

Dean gives him an assessing look. “Bullshit,” he states flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re pale and your hair looks like it’s been attacked by crows and you nearly jumped a foot in the air when you saw me. What’s going on?”

Castiel sighs. “Can we not talk about this here?”

“Fine,” Dean agrees, “come on.”

He leads Castiel back towards the employee lounge, but Castiel pauses outside the door, hesitant. “Won’t there be a bunch of other people in there?”

“Nah,” Dean says over his shoulder. “Coffee break just ended. I was late taking mine because I was caught up in something, so the place should be clear.”

He opens the door, and reveals his prediction to be accurate: there’s no one else in the room. Castiel looks at the counter and flushes, remembering the way he and Dean had kissed against it a few weeks ago, then clears his throat and takes a seat.

“Spill,” Dean orders, sitting across from him. “And drink that coffee, you look like you need it.”

Castiel obediently raises the mug to his lips and takes a few sips. It might not be the best coffee he’s ever tasted, but it’s strong and it’s hot and it soothes him almost instantly. 

“We had a difficult conference call with one of my superiors back in New York,” he begins. “Nothing out of the ordinary, but unpleasant regardless.”

“That sucks,” Dean says. “What’d they do to piss you off?”

“Everything,” Castiel replies. “Didn’t even read the report we sent, made some jokes in poor taste, et cetera. I hung up on him.”

Dean’s eyes go wide. “You what?” he sputters.

“I hung up on him,” Castiel repeats. “God, I can’t believe I did that.”

“Badass,” Dean mutters under his breath, but Castiel catches it and grins. “You gonna get in trouble now?”

“I doubt it.” Castiel shrugs. “I made it sound like a bad connection. I don’t think he’ll figure it out.”

“Well, damn.” Dean throws him a lazy salute. “I’m impressed, Cas.”

“I’m not sure this is the kind of behaviour I should be modelling for the others. But no one seemed to mind.”

“They all hate this guy too?”

“He is not a particularly popular person at the office, no,” Castiel says, and that’s putting it politely. He still isn’t entirely sure how Zachariah ever made it to the position he currently holds. 

“Do you have to spend a lot of time with him when you get back?”

“More so than here, and even more so if I get this promotion,” Castiel replies, caught up in the easy flow of their conversation before he realizes what he’s said.

Dean’s eyes widen. “A promotion?”

“Please don’t say anything about it,” Castiel pleads. “It’s not common knowledge, and I shouldn’t even have mentioned it.” He’s already been indiscreet with Dean in one way, but this sharing of privileged information might be even worse. He hopes Dean has enough respect for him to stay silent on the subject.

“Don’t worry, I know how to keep a secret,” Dean drawls, and Castiel sighs in relief. 

“Thank you,” he says.

The conversation falters, but Castiel’s mood has improved considerably. “And thank you, for listening,” he adds.

“Yeah man, of course.” Dean gives him a long look, like he’s debating his next words. “Look. This whole friends-with-benefits thing, it has two sides to it. We’ve got the benefits part down to a fine art, I’d say. But we can be friends too, you know. And friends talk about crap like this. So if you need to blow off some steam about your asshole boss or whatever, I’m here.”

There’s a lot to unpack in Dean’s statement, but the part that keeps ringing in Castiel’s ears is the phrase _friends-with-benefits_. They haven’t put a label on what they’ve been doing up to this point, but now he knows exactly how Dean envisions it. The clarity should be a relief, but instead, it’s like a punch to Castiel’s gut.

Clearly, Dean feels the need to re-establish the boundaries of their relationship. Probably thanks to the way Castiel overstepped them the last time they had sex. His throat tightens, but rationally, he knows this should be a good thing. The rules keep him safe. And now that he knows the game they’re playing, he can abide by those rules.

“That sounds nice,” he says, offering Dean a tentative smile. 

Because it does. He _likes_ Dean, not just for his body and that impossibly perfect face of his. Especially after this conversation, he’s convinced Dean will make an excellent friend. And if he’s willing to move past the awkwardness of the past few days and re-introduce the physical aspect of their relationship, Castiel will take what he can get.

He’s leaving soon anyway, he reminds himself. This is for the best.

But when Dean smiles back at him, Castiel’s heart leaps in his chest, wanting nothing more than to see that smile again and again.

“Shit, I gotta get back to work,” Dean says, glancing at the clock on the wall. “You going to be okay?”

“Of course,” Castiel says hastily. “I should go see how the rest of my team is coping, anyway.”

“It’s cool that you guys get along, at least,” Dean offers as they rinse their coffee mugs and leave them in the rack to dry. “Even if your boss is a dick.”

Castiel snorts. He’s never heard Zachariah so accurately described in a single word. Dean really does have a way with words. “Yes, it makes dealing with him a lot easier.”

They leave the employee lounge, and Dean lingers for a moment, taking his time adjusting the straps of his coveralls and putting his safety hat back on. In the process, he ends up with a smudge of dust across one cheekbone, and it takes every ounce of Castiel’s self-restraint not to reach out and wipe it away. It’s not something _friends_ do. And that’s what Dean wants to be. 

“Do you have plans tonight?” Dean asks.

Right. Friends-with-benefits. This would be the _benefits_ part of that term. Castiel hesitates, because of course he wants to see Dean again later this evening, but he thinks he ought to go for a decent dinner and share a few bottles of wine with the rest of his team.

“I should spend the evening with my team,” he says, and he’s gratified by the flicker of disappointment in Dean’s eyes, even if it isn’t for the reasons he’d hope. 

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Dean says. “Another time.”

“Another time,” Castiel echoes. “Have a good day, Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas, you too.” With one last little smile over his shoulder, Dean turns and strides away, leaving Castiel staring after him. And if a wistful little sigh escapes his lips, well, there’s no one around to witness it.

***

“Another time” turns out to be two days later. Castiel is just leaving for the day when he catches sight of Dean lingering in the hall near the office and goes to join him.

“Hey,” Dean says. “You free tonight?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. 

“Awesome,” Dean murmurs. “Today was a shitshow. Bunch of people were off sick so we had to pick up the slack.”

Castiel hesitates for a second, an idea forming in his mind. “I know after a long day, I find a swim relaxing,” he offers. “The pool at the hotel is quite nice.”

Dean looks intrigued by the idea. “That does sound good,” he agrees. “I’ll head home, grab something to eat and get my trunks, then meet you there?”

“Perfect.”

He doesn’t stop to consider that his colleagues might see him and Dean together, or that this is the first time they’ve made arrangements to see each other outside of work that aren’t exclusively for the purpose of having sex. He just heads back to the hotel with a smile on his face, the radio turned up and the car windows down.

Dean arrives just over an hour later, texting him from the lobby so Castiel can meet him and bring him back to the pool area. The changing rooms are deserted, and Dean strips off his clothes neatly and efficiently, Castiel doing his best not to ogle him as he does. He’s seen Dean naked before, and likely will again. But there’s something about the way his dark green swim trunks fit to his narrow waist that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders in relation, and when he looks up, he catches Castiel staring and gives him a smirk.

Castiel flushes faintly, but then he remembers how much Dean seemed to like those photos he sent of himself in his own trunks a few weeks ago. He keeps his eyes on Dean as he pulls off his own clothes and slides the smooth black fabric over his hips, then brazenly adjusts himself through it. Dean gives a breathless laugh and a little nod of acknowledgement, and Castiel smiles. Two can play this game. 

Unfortunately, there are three or four other people in the pool when they arrive, so they have to at least attempt to act respectably. Dean lowers himself into the water and does a few lazy laps back and forth, and when he stops and rejoins Castiel at the edge of the pool, his smile is easy and his shoulders relaxed. 

“Water feels nice,” he says. “Come on in.”

How could Castiel possibly resist? He slides in and repeat Dean’s motions, the two of them gliding back and forth in an easy rhythm. They avoid the far side of the pool, which is occupied by a mother and her two school-age children, keeping themselves in their own little corner.

“This was a good idea,” Dean says after a few minutes. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel replies. “You’d be welcome to join me anytime, Dean.”

“I might take you up on that,” Dean says, eyes slipping closed as he floats on his back. “Haven’t had access to a pool since--”

He trails off, and as much as Castiel wants to know more, he doesn’t push. Instead, he takes advantage of Dean’s closed eyes to admire him without being caught looking, the way the water ripples over his body and darkens his hair, the tight strength of his muscles as he keeps himself afloat. He’s beautiful, and Castiel wants to see him like this more often, unguarded and content. 

Pushing aside that thought, he mimics Dean’s pose and floats alongside him. He closes his eyes, but opens them again a few minutes later when he hears the sound of the family departing, leaving the two of them alone in the pool. 

A mischievous thought crosses Castiel’s mind, and he sneaks around to Dean’s other side, then sends a huge wave of water splashing over him. Dean sputters, his eyes flying open in outraged surprise, and Castiel bursts into laughter.

“Oh, you asshole!” Dean says, shaking himself off. “It’s on.”

They chase each other around the pool, giggling and splashing like stupid teenagers. Castiel is quicker, but Dean is ruthless: he catches Castiel around the shoulders and dunks him completely under the water, crowing in triumph when Castiel emerges dripping wet and glaring.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Castiel warns him, and Dean just grins, bright and dangerous, and dodges his reach.

They circle each other a few more times, and finally Castiel says, “Truce?” He holds his hands up in the air, and Dean gives him a suspicious look, then swims closer. 

“I suppose,” he sighs. “Surprised security hasn’t come down to tell us to knock it off yet anyway.”

Castiel waits until Dean is within arm’s reach, then grabs him around the waist and pulls him under the water. “I can’t believe you fell for that!” he exclaims when Dean resurfaces.

“Asshole,” Dean says flatly, but his eyes are twinkling. He wipes the water from his face, distracting Castiel with the movement, and suddenly he realizes he’s almost at the edge of the pool, unconsciously moving backwards as Dean closes the gap between them.

The pool wall is solid against his back, and Castiel’s breath comes quick and short as Dean crowds up in front of him, his gaze dropping to Castiel’s mouth. Their bodies are pressed together, and with a shiver, Castiel feels Dean’s cock hardening against him, the thin material of their swim trunks doing little to disguise it. His own cock responds in kind, and he not-so-subtly angles himself so that it brushes against Dean’s bare thigh.

With a groan, Dean drops his head to Castiel’s shoulder, chasing a drop of water across his collarbone with his mouth. “Dean,” Castiel manages, “we should--”

“Take this upstairs?” Dean suggests, his voice already wrecked. 

“Yeah,” Castiel sighs as Dean continues to drop light kisses across the top of his shoulder, then up the side of his neck. Castiel tilts his head to give him better access, moaning when Dean changes the amount of pressure, wondering if it will leave a mark.

He hopes it will.

He’s fully hard now, and when he feels Dean’s erection brush against his own, Castiel’s head thunks back against the edge of the pool, bringing him back to his senses. “Dean,” he says again. “We should really--”

“Okay, yeah.” Dean draws back, and though Castiel mourns the loss of contact, he knows it’s about to get even better. Dean pulls himself out of the pool in one smooth movement, giving Castiel an absolutely glorious view of the muscles in his back shifting as he does, and then turns to wink at him. “Unless you’d rather stay there?”

Castiel scrambles to join him, and Dean laughs, pleased.

He laughs the exact same way half an hour later, when they’re sprawled naked and sated on Castiel’s king-sized bed, sweaty and sticky and completely exhausted. Castiel glances over at him, Dean’s chest rising and falling with his uneven breathing, and thinks maybe he could get used to this _friends-with-benefits_ thing if it means more nights like this.


	9. Chapter 9

“Dean,” Cas moans, and he sounds so completely wrecked that Dean just has to look up. Cas meets his eyes and his fingers tighten in Dean’s hair and that’s what does it — Dean pulls off Cas’ cock, lets his head fall back, and he comes, his own hand sliding up and down furiously. He doesn’t even register Cas is coming too, not until a wet splash of come accidentally hits his cheek. 

“Fuck,” Dean pants, staring up at Cas from where he’s kneeling in front of Crowley’s fancy office chair. Cas has his eyes closed and his face scrunched up, and when he’s done, Dean leans in again and licks him all nice and clean.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas rasps. “Come up here.”

Dean smacks his lips and grins. He carefully tucks Cas back into his boxers and slowly moves up, lips teasing the flushed skin visible underneath Cas’ unbuttoned shirt. He plops down into Cas’ laps, shamelessly, and Cas grabs him by the hips, hard, and pulls him closer to kiss him.

“We should go,” Cas whispers a few minutes later. He moves his head, escaping Dean’s lips, and his hands disappear from Dean’s hips. Dean needs a moment to blink himself back into reality, but when he does, he scrambles off Cas’ laps and backs away. Cas hovers awkwardly as Dean uses a tissue to wipe his hand and shirt off.

“Umm,” Cas mutters and points to the floor. “There’s some—”

“Shit.” Dean bends down and swipes the tissue over the wet spot on the carpet in the place where he was kneeling just a few moments ago. Fortunately, it’s dark enough that it doesn't leave a stain. 

When Dean straightens up again, Cas meets his gaze, lips pressed tight and a light frown on his face. A second later, they both snort and look away from each other.

“Come on,” Cas murmurs, still chuckling quietly. Dean knows he’s blushing, but it feels too good so he doesn’t care. He follows Cas and they leave the office, their footsteps loud in the quiet of the hall. It’s dark and empty, and Dean realizes it’s way past anyone’s shift and they’re probably the only ones left on the site.

“So,” Dean says, watching Cas lock the door and push the key into his pocket. “Any plans for tonight?”

“No,” Cas says and starts walking towards the exit, Dean falling into step beside him. “That was all I had planned.”

Dean smirks. “So you’re saying you planned this?” When Cas only grins at him, he shakes his head with a laugh. “And here I was, thinking myself clever for managing to drag you away from work.”

“Oh, you were clever,” Cas hums. “But I didn’t need too much convincing.”

“Good to know.”

They walk in silence for a while, and soon reach the exit and push the doors open. It’s just as peaceful outside, the sun low in the sky, and when Dean heads towards the car he keeps parked nearby, Cas follows him.

“What about you?” he asks.

Dean glances at him. “Me?”

“Your plans,” Cas adds. “For the night.”

“Oh.” They reach the Impala and Dean toys with the keys instead of opening the door right away. “Not really, no. I was thinking about ordering some pizza and watching TV until I pass out.”

“Ah.”

“Healthy, I know.”

Cas laughs. “That’s not it. I was just hit with the weirdest pizza craving,” he says lightly.

Dean arches an eyebrow. “Really.”

“I haven’t had pizza in ages,” Cas explains hastily, and is that a faint blush Dean can see on his face? Damn, but the guy is adorable, getting flushed over this while not so long ago he all but fucked Dean’s mouth in his boss’ chair. 

“Well, that’s just wrong,” Dean says, smiling. He ignores the weird flutter of his heart as Cas meets his eyes, all innocent and earnest, and asks, “Wanna come over and join me?”

Which is how they end up driving to Dean’s house, Cas following the Impala in his own car, parking it right beside Dean, walking into the house with a curious look on his face. This is good, Dean tells himself. This is what friends do. They’re just going to eat pizza and watch something and then Cas will leave for the night, which is obviously what he wants, considering he did bring his car.

So what if he’s the first person to visit Dean in his new house? This doesn’t mean anything. Sam should have been here already, but he’s lazy and stubborn. So what if it feels a bit weird to see Cas sitting down on his couch, with Dean’s laptop in his lap as he peruses pizza offers? It gets better once they actually get the pizza and drink their beer — just one for Cas, because he needs to drive, since he’s _obviously not planning on staying the night_ — and then end up bickering over what to watch on Netflix. Cas is grumpy and rude, just as usual, and Dean teases him mercilessly for his suggestions, but in the end gives up and lets Cas choose some weird-ass documentary about penguins. It’s boring as hell and Dean’s head feels fuzzy and he’s tired and full of food and beer, and before the movie ends they’re making out and trading lazy handjobs on Dean’s new couch. After everything, Dean flops down onto the pillows and dozes off, and only wakes up when he hears Cas shuffling around the room.

“Cas?” Dean croaks. It’s dark in the room and the TV is off, and Dean’s vision is blurry but he can still see Cas coming in from the hall. He’s got his coat on and there are car keys in his hand.

“Sorry,” Cas whispers. “I tried not to wake you.”

“That’s okay,” Dean mutters and sits up. He winces at the stickiness on his shirt. “You leaving?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as disappointed as he feels. He was expecting this, but it still leaves him feeling empty inside.

“Yes,” Cas answers. “You need to sleep, just as I do. We’ve both got to work tomorrow.”

Dean groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“Sorry.” Dean thinks he can hear a smile in Cas’ voice. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Dean.”

“It was just pizza and beer,” Dean murmurs as he stands up. “Don’t mention it.”

“Still.” Cas moves in and touches Dean’s arm, his hand surprisingly gentle. “I enjoyed it.”

It feels too intimate, suddenly, so Dean does the only thing he can think of with his brain half asleep — he moves forward and kisses Cas on the lips, hard. Cas opens his mouth to let him in, and only yelps a little when Dean smacks his ass playfully.

“Good, I enjoyed it too,” Dean purrs into Cas’ ear, and backs away before Cas can react. 

Cas lets out a heavy sigh, as if trying to calm himself. “Have a good night, Dean,” he says quietly, turns on his heel, and walks out of the room without another word.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. He hears the front door open and close, and he flops down onto the couch, resigned. “You too.”

***

When Dean goes to work the next day, he doesn’t expect to hear about another presentation held by the consultants, even though it does make sense, especially considering they’ve been here for three weeks already. He grumbles with the rest of his team as they file into the canteen with the other workers just before lunch, but secretly doesn’t mind all that much. He hasn’t seen Castiel since he left his house the previous evening, and this is going to be just as good a chance as any.

And maybe afterwards they can sneak off somewhere and spend some more time together.

He tries to hide his smile when Cas and his clique enter the canteen, but Benny catches him anyway.

“What’re you grinning about, you fool,” he whispers.

“I’m not,” Dean murmurs. Jo shoots him a suspicious look from where she’s sitting on Benny’s other side. 

“You are,” Benny says. “You thinking of more difficult questions to drill Novak with?” 

Benny’s joking, of course, and there’s no reason for Dean to get flustered — not to Benny’s knowledge, that is — but _drilling Cas_ is not something Dean wants to talk about with his friends right now. He looks away, praying his blush is not too visible.

“Maybe,” he mutters, and drops the subject.

Soon, Crowley steps forward to quiet the workers down, and then Meg spends a good ten minutes talking about some statistics they’ve managed to accumulate over the last three weeks. She’s in the middle of explaining yet another pie chart when Benny nudges Dean with his elbow.

“What?” Dean hisses, tearing his gaze away from Cas, dressed in a fancy navy suit and looking gorgeous with his hair messy and eyes sharp as he watches Meg’s presentation. 

“I’m bored,” Benny says, beaming. “Do something.”

“No,” Dean protests. “Shut up.”

“What’s up, brother? Don’t tell me all those hours you spent underground with Novak actually convinced you all of this is a good idea.”

He’s talking about the shadowing sessions, of course, and nothing else, but Dean still can feel himself flush. 

“Of course not,” he says.

“So?” Benny raises an eyebrow.

“So nothing. I’m not in the mood,” Dean mumbles.

“Okay. I’ll do it, then,” Benny says, and before Dean can react, he’s standing up and interrupting Meg. “What does it mean for us?”

All four consultants, together with Crowley, look at Benny. Cas frowns at him, then his eyes move to the left and notice Dean. He fidgets and looks away.

“Mr. Lafitte, please sit down,” Crowley snaps. “There’ll be time for your questions later.”

“But we just want some details,” Benny says confidently, then nudges Dean’s shoulder and sends him a grin. “I’m sorry, but your colourful graphs don’t really tell us nothing, lady,” he says with a smile directed at Meg.

“Benny!” Dean hisses and tugs on his friend’s arm, but he ignores him.

“Maybe you should listen more carefully, then, instead of gossipping with your colleagues,” Meg says, all venom. She looks at Dean for a briefest of seconds, then looks over at Cas. “But okay, whatever. Clarence, you wanna take over? We wouldn’t want our precious workers to get bored, would we?”

Dean can feel the angry tension that rolls around the miners at her words, and he can’t help but glare at Meg together with the others. Benny sits down, visibly satisfied, and Dean glares at him, too, for good measure.

“What?” Benny shrugs. “Just doing what you should’ve done.”

Dean doesn’t answer because that’s when Cas starts talking. He turns off Meg’s slides and addresses the workers instead, looking at them earnestly, hands clasped neatly behind his back, voice calm and confident. He sounds so different from when he first spoke to them three weeks ago, but Dean isn’t sure whether it’s because he feels more at ease with the miners or because Dean himself knows Cas better now and his perception of him has changed. When Cas catches his gaze this time, he holds it for a long moment and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Dean loses his train of thought for a bit and doesn’t hear a word Cas says, at least not until he hears another grumble of dissatisfaction carry across the canteen.

“You all know about the equipment changes we’re planning on introducing, but those are not the only ones,” Cas is saying over the murmurs of displeasure. “We’ve watched you work, we’ve gotten to know your ways and your standards. Now, it will be of the utmost importance that we all know how to adapt to the incoming changes, and adapt we will. First and foremost, we will implement a new maintenance strategy. All of you will be required to pass a series of training tests, not only to know how to use the new equipment, but also to know how to properly care for it. A defined set of procedures will have to be followed when operating the new machines and—”

“We know how to use the machines!” someone from the crowd yells.

“Of course you do,” Cas says, “but this will be a brand-new, unique technology. Therefore, it’ll be extremely important for you to know—”

“Just because you buy us new expensive toys doesn’t mean you get to teach us how to use them,” someone interrupts again.

“Please refrain from speaking up before Mr. Novak is done speaking,” Crowley booms.

“Thank you,” Cas mutters. 

Dean can see how stiff his posture has become over the last minute or so, but he’s not sure how to feel about it. He wants to feel sorry for him, he really does — but he can’t help agreeing with what the other workers are saying.

“As I was saying, we’re going to introduce and follow new maintenance and safety procedures,” Cas says loudly. “This will include the training I’ve already mentioned, as well as the improvement of our workspace and storage areas. Some of the standards and best practices will need to be reimplemented. This means a more active supervision, a set of training sessions for team leaders, a new focus team—”

“Supervision?” Max speak out loudly. “So you’re saying you need to control us.”

“No, of course not,” Cas says. “But we will need to provide you an opportunity to learn—”

“We don’t need babysitters,” Benny says. “We know how to do our damn job.”

Dean doesn’t even try to silence him, he’s too conflicted about what he’s hearing. His friends are right — it does sound as if the consultants are planning to control them more efficiently, to try to teach them how to work — most likely because they didn’t like what they’ve seen during shadowing sessions. Dean’s stomach twists unpleasantly when he thinks about his and Cas’ constant bickering — could that be one of the reasons why they want to re-educate them? Do they really think they are incompetent, undisciplined?

Cas could’ve mentioned something. He could’ve said, straight-forwardly, that Dean’s and his friends’ behaviour was frowned upon. Instead, he encouraged it — to the point where they ended up blowing each other in Crowley’s office, for God’s sake.

If that isn’t incompetent behaviour, Dean doesn’t know what to think.

Dean is so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice when Crowley steps out front and severs the discussion. The workers are still speaking over each other, frustrated and noisy, and the consultants hastily grab their things and head towards the doors. 

Dean glares at Cas’ back as he leaves, but Cas doesn’t look back. 

Figures.

***

Dean is sweating profusely by the time he finishes work, carries the jackhammer back to storage, and heads to the locker room to take a quick shower. Most of his team has already left for the day, but he’s been so unfocused since the presentation that he had to stay behind and tidy up all the equipment they’ve been using.

He’s getting his things out of the locker when he hears the loud chime of his phone, hidden in the pocket of his duffel bag. He pulls it out and isn’t surprised that it’s a text from Cas.

_Can I see you tonight?_

Dean types out a response before he can even think it through.

_Sorry man, I’m beat. Maybe some other time._

He glares at Cas’ name for a short moment, watching as the three dots appear only to vanish without Cas’ response. Dean sighs, frustrated, but when Cas stays silent, he sends another message:

_I’m in the locker room if you wanna talk._

He tosses the phone back into the locker and slams the doors. If Cas shows up, they’ll talk, but for now, Dean desperately needs a shower. 

He keeps wondering whether Cas responded somehow (maybe he doesn’t want to see him after all? maybe he’s already driven back to the hotel?) as he cleans himself thoroughly, water hot and steamy. By the time he’s done, he’s managed to convince himself Cas will never want to meet him again, but when he pulls the shower doors open, he’s faced with Cas’ very serious face and all his negative thoughts dissolve.

“Oh,” Dean says. He’s frozen on the spot, very wet and very naked, and Cas is just standing there, all crispy white shirt and dishevelled hair and blue eyes. “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says gravelly. He keeps looking Dean in the eyes, but when Dean moves to grab his towel, Cas’ gaze dips down to Dean’s body, lighting-fast, and then turns away completely. “I’m sorry—”

“‘S okay,” Dean mumbles and covers himself. He’s not embarrassed — Cas has seen him naked already — but he’s irritated Cas has managed to catch him by surprise, yet again. The faint blush on Cas’ face is the only consolation, and Dean smirks to himself as he secures the towel around his waist.

“I can leave you to dress, if you want,” Cas says.

Dean huffs a laugh. “Whatever.” When Cas sends him a questioning look, Dean just shrugs. “I’m not some blushing virgin, Cas.”

“Alright,” Cas says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Dean asks. He walks past Cas towards his locker with as much pride as a person wearing only a towel can.

“I wanted… to check on you. After today,” Cas says.

“Oh?” Dean looks at him over his shoulder and catches Cas staring at his naked calves. Cas quickly looks away. “You mean the presentation.”

“Well, yes,” Cas says. “I know a lot of the workers were upset afterwards. And even though I understand some of your concerns, I just—”

“So you just wanna know whether _I’m_ upset or not,” Dean asks.

Cas opens his mouth to answer and Dean lets the towel drop from his hips.

“Right?” Dean finishes with a smirk.

Cas gulps and raises his eyes from Dean’s naked ass. “Right,” he says. 

“And what if I am?” Dean asks. He’s slow to reach for his jeans, and he makes a show of bending to reach for them, certain Cas is back to staring at him. Putting on his clothes is always awkward and never sexy, though, so he quickly pulls on his boxers and jeans and only then turns to face Cas again.

Cas, whose eyes are wide and dark, lips parted in a small smile.

He schools his features when he realizes Dean is looking at him. They don’t talk until Dean is fully dressed, with shoes on and his duffel bag zipped and ready to go. 

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean meets his eyes and sighs. “I’m not upset, Cas,” he murmurs. “Not anymore, anyway. I think I can understand that everything you said before was true and important but it’s just… it’s hard. You want to put us through changes we’re not exactly ready for, and you want us to be enthusiastic about it. It’s like… Imagine someone came to your office, monitored your every move for three weeks, and then called you incompetent and ordered you to change everything.”

Cas shakes his head. “I never used that word, Dean.”

“But that’s what we all heard,” Dean says with a shrug. “You want to train us. You want to supervise us. You think we can’t do our work ourselves. You’re more worried about your precious new machinery than your workers.”

Cas winces. “It’s… Dean. You know it’s not me, don’t you?”

Dean frowns. “What do you mean, it’s not you? Yeah, it is. You said it. We all heard it.”

“Yes,” Cas says. He takes a small step towards Dean. “But that’s project manager Castiel Novak speaking. Not me.”

“Aren’t you the same person?”

Cas heaves out a sigh. “I wish it was that easy, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t take his eyes off of Cas as he comes closer, too. “So you’re saying you don’t believe in your company’s principles.”

“I…” Cas looks down. “I’m not saying that. But I’m also not saying I always agree with them.”

“Huh.” Dean runs a hand through his damp hair, all the while watching Cas until he finally looks up again. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cas frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It means okay,” Dean repeats. “It means I believe you.”

Cas’ face clears. “You do?”

“You’re not the only one, Cas,” Dean mutters, then reaches for his bag and swings it over his shoulder.

He walks past Cas without a word and reaches the doors before Cas calls, “Dean—”

Dean turns to look at him with a tired smile. “I meant what I said earlier,” he says. “I really am exhausted. All I wanna do is go home and go to sleep.”

Cas watches him for a moment, then nods. “I understand.”

“I’ll call you, okay?” Dean says. “Or, well, text you, or talk to you in person. You know.”

The corner of Cas’ lips lifts in a tiny smile. “Yes, Dean, I know.”

Dean really wants to cross the distance between them again, bury his face in Cas’ shoulder, and stay like that until he’s well-rested. His body is way too tired for anything other than sleeping right now, but he wants nothing more than to invite Cas over, drag him to bed, and fall asleep next to him. They could fool around tomorrow, after they’re both more relaxed, and then they could eat breakfast together and drive to work.

But that’s not what they are. They’re fuckbuddies. More than that, maybe — they’re friends with benefits, they don’t really hate each other anymore. Dean likes talking to Cas and hanging out with him almost as much as he likes taking him apart with his hands and his mouth, but that’s just it. _Friends_.

And friends don’t share a bed with each other. Friends don’t _cuddle_. Friends don’t have _feelings_ towards each other.

They’re just friends who have sex sometimes. Or very often. There’s no way Dean can invite Cas over just so Cas can hold him as he sleeps.

It’s obvious Cas doesn’t want it. He’s said as much, and he’s never done anything to show he might want something more. And the only time Dean let himself feel too much ( _“I need you, Cas,”_ he’d said, he’d _begged_ , and they even held hands, for God’s sake), Cas couldn’t look at him afterwards and things were awkward between them for days. 

So Dean isn’t going to ruin this with a moment of vulnerability. He will go home without Cas, he’ll go to bed alone, he’ll try not to think too much about Cas as he drifts off to sleep, and when they meet again, he’ll make him feel good and try to forget that’s all he’s ever gonna get.

Which is why he sends a wink Cas’ way, says, “See you around, Cas,” and walks away with a smirk and a playful sway of his hips, certain Cas is watching him.

That’s all he’s getting.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel has been mostly successful in not thinking about the fact that he only has two weeks left here in Nevada. If someone mentions it, he usually manages to change the subject, not wanting to have to analyze his feelings on the matter, which swing wildly between anticipation and utter dread. 

On this particular Monday, though, it becomes difficult to ignore the all-too-quick passing of time any longer. He’s just finished another shadowing session with Jo, and the miners and consultants alike have gathered to go over their days before heading home. Tensions between the groups have eased considerably since their first stiff encounters, and even Crowley looks pleased with the way they’re all laughing and joking together. 

Max is in the middle of a passionate monologue about the food in the cafeteria, complaining about the lack of variety, and Dean catches Castiel’s eye and winks at him. Castiel feels himself flush faintly and tries to focus on what Max is saying instead of the way Dean looks, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, putting the impressive bulge of his biceps on full display. 

“I’m telling you, if you want anything to change around here, you should start with the food,” Max says.

“I don’t disagree,” Balthazar drawls. “Perhaps we can make a note of it in our reports. Well-fed workers are happy workers, and happy workers are productive workers.”

“Exactly,” Benny nods. “If we could eat at Gloria’s every day, we’d be the happiest, most productive group of miners in the world, I promise you.”

There’s a chorus of appreciative moans and agreement from the miners, while the consultants simply exchange confused glances. “Gloria’s?” Castiel repeats.

“You guys haven’t been yet?” Jo asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “Oh, you are missing out.”

“Seriously,” Abby and Amara say in unison. It’s unsettling, the way they do that sometimes, but Castiel catches Meg giving them a fond glance and makes a mental note to inquire about that later.

“Best burgers you’ll ever have,” Cesar chimes in. 

Now that catches Castiel’s interest. “I love burgers,” he says. 

“We should go some time,” Dean says. 

Castiel draws in a sharp breath, which seems to echo in the sudden silence. Did Dean just reference the fact that they spend time together outside of work, not caring who overheard him? He doesn’t look particularly concerned, though his arms are still crossed over his chest. 

He feels several pairs of eyes on him, curious, but then Dean continues. “If you’re a real burger lover, you shouldn’t leave here without trying their deluxe bacon cheeseburger. It would be a crime.”

His casual tone restores the previous jovial mood, and Castiel feels himself relax. Just because his treacherous, hopeful brain interpreted that statement as an invitation doesn’t mean that was how Dean intended it. Or even if it was an invitation, it was clearly just a friendly one, one burger lover to another.

Max throws a wide grin in Castiel’s direction. “You might wanna change into something more casual first, though,” he laughs. “It’s not exactly haute cuisine.”

“Please, as if you know anything about haute cuisine,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. Max glares at her and they start bickering playfully back and forth as the rest of the group slowly disperses, the strange moment between he and Dean seemingly forgotten. 

Castiel waves goodbye to the others and is halfway down the tunnel when he hears rapid footsteps behind him and a warm hand closes over his elbow. “Wait,” Dean says. “I meant it, we should go for a burger.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, taken aback. “I thought--”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of everyone,” Dean says with a wince. “But then I thought, hey, whatever. Just a friendly burger. There’s nothing to hide.”

”Right,” Castiel says. “Nothing to hide.”

Dean grins at him, and Castiel is helpless against that expression of pure joy. “So? Tonight? I promise, it’ll change your life.”

“Alright,” Castiel agrees, though he’s still reeling from Dean’s earlier words. _Nothing to hide_. Because there’s nothing between them. “What time should I meet you there?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Dean offers. “Seven o’clock okay?”

“Sure,” Castiel says weakly. This is sounding more and more like a date. Except he knows that it isn’t, and that only makes him feel worse. 

“Cool. See you then.” Dean leans forward, almost like he’s about to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, but then reels back, obviously thinking better of it. He gives him another one of those roguish winks instead, and Castiel manages a faint smile.

This is a terrible idea. 

Of course, knowing that doesn’t stop him from heading back to his hotel and immediately jumping into the shower, making sure he’s thoroughly clean, then wrapping a towel around his hips and surveying his meager collection of casual clothing. He didn’t really pack for supposedly friendly burger dates with a fuckbuddy he has stupid unrequited feelings for. 

He’s going to need help. But help is going to come with questions, so he has to be smart about it. 

After sending off a quick text, there’s a knock on his door only a few minutes later. Castiel pulls it open, and Balthazar raises an eyebrow at his towel-clad figure. “I’m flattered, darling, but this wasn’t what I was expecting when you said you needed help.”

“You should be flattered,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. “And no, that’s not what I need you for.”

“Ahh,” Balthazar says, eyes lighting on the pile of clothes scattered across Castiel’s bed. “Wardrobe advice. That makes far more sense than a sudden burning desire for my body.”

“I’m going out for burgers with some of our new friends,” Castiel says. “And all my casual clothing is gymwear.”

Balthazar purses his lips and gives Castiel an assessing glance. “And you’re concerned about your appearance because…”

“Because I’m tired of being treated like some stuck-up asshole, and clothing can go a long way towards changing one’s image,” Castiel says, mentally congratulating himself for anticipating exactly this question.

“Indeed,” Balthazar murmurs. “Hold that thought, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Castiel paces the room while Balthazar is gone, but as promised, he’s back only moments later, triumphantly handing over a soft black t-shirt. “And those nice jeans of yours, the dark ones that make your legs look a mile long.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks doubtfully, holding up the shirt. The neckline dips quite low. 

“Absolutely,” Balthazar assures him. “It says ‘I’m comfortable with myself, I don’t need anything fancy, and by the way, I have an incredible collarbone,’ all of which is true, in your case. And in mine, which is why I bought it.”

Still shaking his head, Castiel slips into the bathroom to change, then examines himself in the mirror with a critical eye. He still looks like himself, just...different. Good different. He huffs a laugh, impressed. Balthazar really does know what he’s talking about.

His friend lets out a low whistle, grinning wolfishly when he walks back into the room. “You almost make me wish you had called me here for other reasons,” he jokes. 

Castiel flips him off. “Thank you, though.”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome. Enjoy your evening, Cas.” With a lazy wave, Balthazar leaves, making exaggerated kissing faces as he closes the door behind him.

Castiel checks the time on his phone. 6:45. Just enough time to try to convince his hair to fall in a way that looks deliberate, dab on some cologne, and brush his teeth. Just as he’s sliding his wallet into his pocket, his phone beeps with a message from Dean. _I’m downstairs_.

With a deep breath and one final glance in the mirror, Castiel is out the door.

He knows Dean’s car by sight, of course, but there’s something different about seeing it parked just outside the hotel, black surface gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. Dean is leaning against the hood, a pair of sunglasses shading his eyes and a soft grey t-shirt clinging perfectly to the strong lines of his body.

As Castiel comes closer, Dean slides the sunglasses up on his face and his eyes make a slow path from the top of Castiel’s head to his feet, lingering around his chest and exposed collarbone. Dean looks back up and meets his eyes, a slow, satisfied smile spreading over his face. “You look good,” he says appreciatively.

Such simple words shouldn’t make Castiel feel so weak in the knees, but they do. He takes a second to admire Dean as well, his gaze frank-- surely open ogling is part of the whole friends-with-benefits arrangement-- and then slides around to the passenger side of the Impala. “So do you,” he says as he gets in.

“The staff at Gloria’s won’t know what hit them,” Dean grins. He looks good behind the wheel of his car, Castiel notes. Comfortable, secure. Happy. 

It only takes a few minutes to drive to the restaurant, and they chat lightly on the way. Despite his nerves, things don’t feel awkward at all. That all changes the second they walk into the brightly-painted room, packed with other diners, and the hostess gives them a broad smile and says, “For two?”

Dean just flashes her a charming smile and nods, while Castiel jams his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. He’s had dinners with friends before, for god’s sake. Plenty of them in higher-class restaurants than this, with low lighting and soothing music lending an air of intimacy to the evening. This is loud clanging from the kitchen, servers hustling around to their tables and neatly stepping out the way as they pass, families and couples alike dining in a relaxed atmosphere.

It’s not a date. It isn’t. 

They’re seated at a table tucked in the corner right by the kitchen. “Sweet,” Dean comments. “Right up close and personal with all the action.”

“Do you come here often?” Castiel asks. A few of the serves smile or wave as they pass the table, obviously recognizing Dean.

“Jo brought me on one of my first days on the job,” Dean says. “Been back more times than I should probably admit since.”

It only makes it feel more special, Dean sharing a space that’s dear to him. But Castiel can’t give voice to that thought. “So what do you recommend?” he asks instead.

After some advice from Dean, they order a round of beers and their burgers. Castiel drums his fingers on the table, searching for something to say. “You said Jo brought you here on one of your first days,” he starts. “I didn’t realize that was a recent occurrence.”

“Yeah, I’ve only been here a few months,” Dean answers easily. “Was working in Colorado before that, but the company got bought out and a bunch of us got laid off.”

Castiel winces, knowing all too well how common such scenarios are. “I’m sorry,” he offers. 

Dean just shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says. “I like it here. I’ve got a good team, the pay’s better, and hey, this place exists.” He raises his glass in a toast. “To Nevada.”

“To Nevada,” Castiel echoes. 

“What about you? You grow up in New York?”

A thrill of excitement bubbles up in Castiel’s chest, but he deliberately quashes it. Just because it sounds like an extremely typical first-date question doesn’t mean that it is. They’re friends, but they don’t really know all that much about each other. It only makes sense to have these conversations, now that they’re neither at work or busy screwing each other’s brains out. Not that they haven’t done that at work a few times. 

“No,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. “I grew up in Illinois, actually. My older brother started working for Liberty Executive Solutions and got me a position right out of college, and I’ve worked my way up since then.”

“Nice,” Dean says. “Illinois, huh. Let me guess. White picket fence, family dinner every night, scholarship to a good school?”

There’s only friendly teasing in his tone, but Castiel bristles at the assumption regardless. It’s one that’s been made all too often for his liking. He understands why: the picture he normally presents to the world is one that would follow logically from such a path in life, but that isn’t the path that he took.

“Wrong, wrong, and definitely wrong,” he says, watching as a look of surprise crosses Dean’s face.

“Well, damn,” Dean laughs. “So tell me about it.”

“You’ve never been interested before,” Castiel says carefully. The only time he tried to offer any personal details, from what he can remember, was that brief discussion of their brothers, back when he took Dean’s phone by mistake. Dean shut that down pretty quickly, and they’ve never broached the subject again.

“Yeah, well, I am now.” Dean doesn’t look like he’s lying. His expression is open, curious. And Castiel isn’t ashamed of his past. Quite the opposite. 

“Alright,” he says with a shrug. “Well. I have three older siblings: Michael, Gabriel, and Anna. Michael is the one who got me the job at Liberty. We’re all quite close, likely because it was just us most of the time.”

A shadow crosses over Dean’s face. “Your parents?” he asks, softer this time. 

“My father left when I was just a baby. I never knew him. And my mother worked three jobs to support us, but that meant we didn’t see much of her.”

Dean is silent for a moment, but the smiles wistfully. “At least you had each other, right?”

“Exactly. Michael was more of a parent than a big brother to me, really.” Castiel shakes his head at the memories. “And I was not an easy child to raise, I know.”

“Oh really?” Dean raises an eyebrow and leans forward conspiratorially. “Now that I have a hard time believing.”

Before Castiel can launch a tale of his youthful misadventures, their burgers arrive. The conversation halts while they take their first bites. Dean watches in amusement as Castiel eagerly takes a second bite, marveling at the taste.

“Told you it was good,” he says smugly.

“I’ll never doubt you again,” Castiel replies. 

They eat in silence for a few more minutes, but when his burger is about half-done, Dean puts it down and levels a long look at Castiel. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” he says.

“Oh, very well.” Castiel slouches back in his chair, noting the way Dean’s eyes follow him, and offers a lazy smile. “Half an hour ago, how would you have guessed I spent my afternoons after school?”

“I don’t know, debate club?”

It’s so far from the truth that Castiel has to laugh. “Try detention,” he says.

“No!” Dean exclaims. “You? What for?”

“Being late to class, sleeping in class, skipping class, giving teachers attitude,” Castiel lists off. “The usual.”

“Incredible.” Dean shakes his head slowly. “So how’d you end up, you know?” He gestures to Castiel. “Here? Or not here, cause you know, you look a lot less uptight in that outfit than you normally do.”

“I know what you mean.” Castiel takes a sip of his beer and a bite of his burger, trying to determine how best to explain it. “Essentially, Michael sat me down and told me I needed to clean up my act. He never threatened me, or tried to scare me, because he knew that wouldn’t work. But he made me realize that I needed a direction in life, a purpose. He didn’t care what it was. I think he would have sent me to clown college with his blessing if that’s what I wanted.”

“Well thank god it wasn’t,” Dean mutters, shuddering. “That’s an image I never wanted to see.”

“Fortunately, I decided regular college was good enough,” Castiel continues. “And it really changed my work ethic. But I still didn’t know what to do afterwards, so when Michael told me there was a position open with Liberty, I took it.”

“And now you just hang up on your boss when he’s being an asshole,” Dean teases, grinning. “So maybe you haven’t changed all that much after all.”

“Oh, god,” Castiel groans. “I still can’t believe I did that.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Dean assures him. “And it makes so much more sense now.”

Castiel still isn’t sure he isn’t going to eventually have to deal with the consequences of ending that phone call, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, either. Or to regret confiding in Dean, who’s now looking at him with frank admiration in his gaze. 

Made confident by that look, he asks, “What about you? Do you have any siblings besides Sam?”

Dean’s eyes slide away from his and he swallows visibly. “No, just Sam,” he says, and his voice has completely changed. He sounds more like a stranger than someone Castiel has been naked with several times over. “I forgot you guys talked that one time.”

Sam seems to be a bit of a sore subject, so Castiel tries a different approach. “And your parents?” he asks.

He regrets it the second he says the word, because Dean’s face darkens further and his shoulders tense, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Not around,” he says shortly.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says immediately. “I didn’t mean to pry, I just--”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean sighs. “I just don’t want to get into it, not--” He waves a hand around the room, including Castiel in the gesture. Castiel doesn’t know what he means by this-- Dean doesn’t want to talk about it in public? Or not to Castiel?

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Castiel says, scrambling to salvage the comfortable mood they’ve set for the night so far. 

“It’s fine,” Dean repeats, and he manages a weak smile. “Let’s just move on, okay?”

“Of course.”

But Castiel has no idea what to say, afraid of misstepping once again. He picks moodily at the last of his fries, chastising himself for his thoughtlessness.

“Hey,” Dean says after a minute. “How do you feel about pie?”

Castiel looks up, a tentative smile creeping across his face. “I feel good about pie, in general.”

“Awesome.” Dean flags down their server and asks her for a slice of apple pie à la mode. “With two forks.”

And now, apparently, they’re going to share dessert. Could this be more of a cliché? Castiel isn’t entirely sure what Dean’s playing at, picking him up, now ordering dessert for them to share, but he can’t deny that he’s enjoying the illusion. 

Dean is certainly enjoying the pie. His eyes light up in delight when their server sets it down in the centre of the table, and he digs in eagerly. Castiel watches him for a moment, amused, before taking a bite himself. It is quite delicious, and when Dean gives him an inquiring look, he nods in approval.

“Excellent choice,” he says.

There’s a tiny smudge of vanilla ice cream hovering in the corner of Dean’s mouth. Castiel wants to reach out and wipe it away, or better yet, kiss it away. But even if they weren’t in public, he isn’t sure how Dean would react to such a gesture. So he just raises his hand to his own mouth and says, “You have a little something…”

When Dean’s tongue darts out to lick away the spot, Castiel bites back a helpless noise and clenches his hand tightly around his fork. It’s unfair, how attractive Dean is. He must not be as subtle as he hoped, because Dean raises an eyebrow at him, and then his eyes darken in understanding, a slow smile creeping across his face.

“Let’s finish this up and get out of here,” he says, voice low.

The pie is gone within minutes, there’s a brief argument over the bill (Castiel wins), and then they’re leaving Gloria’s behind them. Castiel doesn’t know where they’re going, whether it’s back to his hotel, to Dean’s house, or to the mining site. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Dean is driving with one hand on the wheel, the desert stretching out endlessly around them, the other hand inching closer and closer to Castiel’s thigh.

They don’t say a word until Dean turns down a road with a sign so small Castiel can’t determine its name. They continue on for a few moments, and then Dean pulls over, his hand sliding away for Castiel’s leg. Castiel mourns the loss of contact, but Dean throws him a charming smirk and opens the car door, gesturing for Castiel to do the same.

“Look up,” he instructs as they climb out of the car, voice soft in the desert air.

Confused, Castiel just blinks at him for a moment. He assumed Dean was taking them somewhere they could be alone and at least partially naked together. “Look up,” Dean repeats, and this time, Castiel does.

The stars are like nothing he’s ever seen before. He’s never really paid attention to them since coming to Nevada, too busy moping around his hotel room or spending time with Dean to appreciate how they glow without the interference of city lights to dim them. There’s no sound to break the spell in the air, except maybe Dean’s breathing. Without even thinking, Castiel reaches down between them and takes hold of his hand, gripping it tightly. Dean’s hand is warm and slightly callused and fits perfectly in his own.

This is a memory Castiel will treasure for the rest of his life. The brightness of the stars, the feeling of vastness and his own relative smallness, the heat of Dean’s hand in his own. No matter what happens between the two of them, Castiel will always be grateful to Dean for sharing this with him.

“Thank you,” he says, finally finding the ability to give voice to that gratitude. “This is--”

“Incredible, right?” Dean’s voice is soft with awe. “I never get tired of it. When we were kids, Sammy and I loved looking at the stars. I’ve lived a lot of places in my life, and this is the brightest I’ve ever seen them.”

Castiel wants to ask about those other places, but he holds back. He’s slowly learning that it’s best not to push Dean, that he’ll open up occasionally when he feels comfortable. The air is getting chilly as the day’s warmth fades, and Castiel shivers slightly, only now regretting the low neckline of the shirt he borrowed from Balthazar.

“Cold?” Dean asks, glancing over at him. 

“A little,” Castiel admits. “But not enough to want to leave, or get back in the car.”

Dean gives him a look Castiel hasn’t seen before, then folds him back against his chest, his arms wrapping around him in an embrace. Castiel stiffens slightly, surprised, but then relaxes back into his hold, his head finding the perfect spot to rest against Dean’s shoulder.

“Better?” Dean’s voice is soft, his breath warm against Castiel’s ear. He nuzzles gently at the side of Castiel’s neck, and Castiel shivers at the tenderness of it. 

“Mmn-hmn,” he murmurs. “Dean…”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Does he want Dean to stop being so sweet, to stop confusing him with gentle touches and grand gestures? Or does he want him to continue, to close out the night in a way that will preserve the illusion of something more between them than mere physical connection? 

Dean sighs, and his arms tighten around Castiel for a second. Then he presses a kiss to the top of his head and says, “I should get you home. We have to work in the morning.”

Castiel wants to protest, but he knows Dean is right. They get back in the car and head towards Castiel’s hotel, the stars growing less and less bright as they leave the emptiness of the desert behind them.


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re chirpy today,” Jo comments during breakfast.

Dean grins and meets Jo’s suspicious look. “It’s Friday,” he says, shrugging. 

“And his week off starts tomorrow,” Benny says as he sits down beside him with his tray. “If I remember correctly.”

“You do,” Dean agrees cheerfully. 

“Stop grinning or I’ll punch you in the face,” Jo mutters. 

Dean gasps theatrically. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Believe me, she would,” Victor snorts. Jo glares at him and tries to kick him under the table, but hits Dean instead.

He doesn’t even have it in him to be mad. 

They leave the canteen soon after, Dean with a spring in his step and a smile that he’s not even trying to hide. The consultants are already standing by the tunnels and waiting for the shadowing sessions to start, and Dean doesn’t waste time talking to anyone, nodding towards Cas and leading him into the dark instead.

As soon as they disappear around the corner, Dean flashes his light around, finds Cas close behind, and reaches back to grab his hand. His heart skips a beat when Cas squeezes his hand and follows him deeper into the tunnel without a word.

They don’t speak when they reach the place where the tunnel ends and the machines have been left for them, and neither of them utters a word when Dean turns, grabs Castiel by his shoulders, and backs him gently against the wooden beam supporting the ceiling. Dean smiles widely and swears he can see Cas smiling back at him in the dark, but then there are arms winding around his neck and bringing him close enough so that their lips meet.

Dean kisses Cas slowly and marvels at the way Cas seems to be melting in his arms, his lips pliant and his touches soft. Dean hums happily when Cas runs his fingers through the soft hair at the back of his neck, and presses closer to circle his arms around Cas’ waist.

When they break apart to catch a breath, Dean leans in to nose at Cas’ cheek, a dopey grin on his face. He hears Cas huff a quiet laugh at him, and then Cas’ hands brush against his face and sneak into his hair.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas whispers, leans in, and drops a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Dean can feel his knees go weak at Cas’ voice — low and affectionate — and he props his palms against the beam behind Cas’ back to keep himself from falling down.

“Hi,” he murmurs and kisses Cas’ jaw, moves forward to press his lips against Cas’ ear. “Yesterday sucked.”

“Mhm,” Cas hums. He moves his head to the side to give Dean more access to his neck. “Why? What happened?”

Dean is glad it’s dark around them and his face is hidden against Cas’ neck because he’s certain he’s red as a beet when he answers shyly, “You weren’t here.”

“Oh,” Cas mutters. His fingers tighten in Dean’s hair. “I’m sorry. We needed to finalise all the documents about the new machinery before we can actually use it today—”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Dean murmurs. “I’m just whining, don’t mind me.”

“Hmm.” Cas tugs on his hair gently and brings his head up to kiss him slowly on the lips again. “That’s okay. I like it.”

“Yeah?” Dean grins into the kiss.

“Yes.” Cas pulls away and looks at him, and Dean can clearly imagine the blue of his eyes, even in the dark tunnel. “And I agree, yesterday sucked.”

Dean huffs a laugh and moves away slowly, instantly missing Cas’ body heat. He picks up the flashlight and watches as Cas reaches for one of the hard hats sitting neatly beside the machines piled at the end of the tunnel. He snorts when he sees Cas fumbling with the strap under his chin and shuffles closer to help him adjust it. 

“Keep it tight, you dummy,” he murmurs. “We don’t want rocks falling on your pretty little head.”

Cas chuckles. “Put yours on, too, then.”

“Are you saying I’m pretty?” Dean jokes and grabs his own hat. 

“I’m not saying you’re not,” Cas says lightly.

Dean laughs and busies himself preparing the machine for work to stop himself staring adoringly at Cas. It’s hard, though, and he catches himself glancing at Cas as he works, more often than not meeting his eyes and smiling stupidly. They light up the lamps mounted on their helmets as they work and it’s now easy to see Cas’ face every time he turns to look at him.

It’s dangerous and stupid and exhilarating, but Dean is tired of fighting it. He risked a lot asking Cas out for burgers, but then everything went so smoothly, he didn’t regret it for one second. Dean pushed and pushed and Cas responded wonderfully — dressing up, sharing the dessert with him, simply taking Dean’s hand in his as he looked up to see the stars. Dean’s been falling for quite a long time now, but there, in the desert, with Cas snuggled comfortably against his side without a word of protest, he realized how deep he’d really fallen.

And he’s a miner, after all. He knows a thing or two about depth.

There’s a part of him, of course, that keeps fighting. Keeps telling him it can’t work, they’re too different, and Cas is leaving so very soon, and they probably won’t ever see each other again. It doesn’t matter, though — he knows he’s already pretty damn committed, and there’s no backing down now. It’s going to hurt like a bitch, he’s sure of it, but right now? It feels worth it.

They haven’t really talked about it, but he thinks Cas must be thinking along the same lines. Dean doesn’t know how deep Cas’ feelings go, and he isn’t going to ask, obviously, but he’s sure it must be a little bit more than just physical attraction now. They’ve spent quite a lot of time together since the date on Monday, mostly at work — and no one kisses like Cas does if all they want is sex.

Even Dean can tell the difference.

Dean hands Cas one of their oldest jackhammers, the one he used and explained during one of their previous sessions, and gestures to him with an encouraging smile. There’s something in the way Cas heaves the machine and situates it over the rocks, the muscles of his arms visible underneath the white shirt he insists on wearing despite the fact there’s no way he won’t get dirty underground. Dean finds he doesn’t mind all that much — he can already imagine the way the shirt would slide down Cas’ arms, Dean’s hands brushing against the skin, guiding them both into the shower to get rid of the dust and the dirt.

Dean is too distracted to notice what’s going on, at least until the drill roars to life, the noise deafening, and Cas yelps, lets go of the machine, and stumbles back as it crushes against the ground and whirls around, dangerously close to Cas’ feet. Dean swears and jumps forward, nudging Cas out of the way. He manages to grab the machine by the handles, and the strength of the vibrations almost burns against his palms, even through the protective gloves he’s wearing. Cas falls to his knees next to him and helps him keep the drill steady as Dean fumbles with the switch.

The drill quiets down and freezes on the ground. Dean heaves out a sigh, rubs his hands together to get rid of the numbness spreading through his palms, and looks up at Cas.

Cas is breathing hard, too, face flushed and eyes wide. He meets Dean’s gaze and smiles. 

“That was… fun,” he says with a quiet laugh.

Dean stands up without a word, turning away so Cas can’t see his face. He can feel his hands tremble, and he’s not sure whether it’s from the drill or something else. He doesn’t want to know.

“Dean?” Cas asks. Dean can hear him standing, too, can see the sweep of his lamp against the dark wall of the tunnel. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what happened.”

“I do,” Dean says slowly.

Cas doesn’t answer, probably surprised to hear the coldness in Dean’s voice. When Dean turns back to face him, he can see the confusion in his eyes. 

“I’ve told you,” Dean says, “ _thousands of times_ , never to start with the highest level.”

“Oh,” Cas murmurs. “I… don’t remember.”

Dean sucks in a breath. “Yeah, no shit. Those things are old, dude. You don’t just go and start drilling, you gotta ease into it slowly! I’ve shown you this. Many times.”

“Alright.” Cas nods. “I’ll remember next time.” When Dean glares at him, Cas shrugs. “What, Dean? Nothing happened.”

“ _Nothing_ happened?” Dean repeats, incredulous. “You almost drilled a hole in your fucking leg, that’s what happened!”

Cas frowns, still visibly surprised at Dean’s outburst. It doesn’t help to calm Dean down — instead he can feel the small angry flame burn hotter, bigger, catching on his insides and making him see red.

“But I didn’t, Dean,” Cas says calmly. “I could’ve, but I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter!” Dean barks.

“Yes, it does!” Cas snaps. He answers Dean’s angry glare with the one of his own, then throws his hands in the air, dismissive. “I don’t understand why you’re freaking out, Dean, this is irrational—”

Dean moves in, grabs his shoulder, and pushes him towards the exit. “Get the hell out of here,” he growls.

“What?” Cas pulls away from him. “No, Dean, what are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere—”

“Yes, you are,” Dean says. “Now. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Cas turns, grabs Dean’s wrist, and tries keeping him in place, but Dean only slaps at his hands and pushes him away. Cas doesn’t give up, but he does get obviously frustrated, catching Dean’s arm and shoving him against the wall.

“Stop it,” he rumbles, low in his throat, and Dean freezes for a second, trapped by Cas’ furious glare and strong grip. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Dean pushes him away with a huff. Cas stumbles back, and they stand like that for a moment, a few feet away, both of them breathing hard and glaring. Dean can feel his hands curling into fists.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. “Those aren’t toys, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know they’re not,” Cas argues. “Stop treating me like a child. I made a mistake, and I said I’m sorry. It can actually serve as a great example, because now we can test the new drill and you’ll see how easy it is to operate — the vibration has been reduced to a minimum, and you can start at the highest level without risking—”

Dean interrupts him with a dry laugh. “It _is_ just a toy for you, then. You’re having fun, aren’t you? You think we’re gonna have fun, all of us, testing your new toys, and then all will be good and safe and perfect?”

“That is the point, yes,” Cas says, “but I still don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean barks. “You sit in your shiny office and stare at the computer screen and think you know everything, don’t you? Well, newsflash, pal — mining isn’t fun. It’s awful. It’s dangerous. We’re all risking our lives here, every goddamn hour, and you think you can just come in here, disregard everything, and start fucking around with the machines—”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Cas growls, taking a step forward. “Don’t treat me like I’m less than you, just because I don’t usually work as hard as you, or just because you think my job is _easy_ —”

“This is _so_ not about that,” Dean says with a cynical laugh. “I don’t care what you do. Do whatever the fuck you want, just don’t come in here and pretend you know anything about my job because clearly, you _don’t_.”

“I’m not stupid,” Cas rumbles, “I know this is dangerous—”

“Do you? And yet here you are, swinging that drill around like it’s nothing!”

“I wasn’t—”

“And you say, ‘Calm down, Dean, stop freaking out’, trying to teach _me_ how to do my job!”

“Will you stop interrupting me!” Cas shoves against Dean’s chest, but Dean isn’t having any of it. He’s had enough.

“People _die_ here, you fucking idiot!” he yells. “There’s nothing more important than safety!”

At that, Cas actually scoffs. “Like you know anything about that,” he taunts. “I’ve been working for this company a lot longer than you, you don’t get to teach me that, _Winchester_.”

“I lost my father underground,” Dean says, voice cold as ice. “I dare to say I know something about it, too.”

Cas opens his mouth, and then Dean’s words must get to him, because he pales, snaps his mouth shut, and stumbles back. 

“W-what?” he stutters.

“You heard me,” Dean says. “Now, excuse me. I believe it’s lunch time.”

He leaves before Cas can gather his thoughts to reply. He trips a few times on his way up, his eyes barely seeing the rocks beneath his feet, but he manages not to fall down onto his face. It’s quiet outside, all the other workers still busy, and when Dean checks the time, he realizes it’s still a while until lunch. His stomach lurches at the thought of going back underground, and he doesn't think twice before marching straight to the locker room, pulling out his phone, and sending Cesar a text saying he needs to go home because he’s not feeling well. He doesn’t waste time showering — just changes into his usual clothes, grabs his duffel bag, gets into his car, and drives away.

Once he’s on his way home, he grabs the phone again and dials Sam’s number almost instinctively. His anger simmers on low, but his hands have stopped shaking and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He can’t think of anything better to fill it with than talking to his brother. It helps even more when Sam picks up after just one ring and sounds cheerful enough for the both of them.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean says. He parks the car and gets out. It feels weird to not be at work in the middle of the day. 

“Dean? You started your free week already?” Sam asks, and of course he would know immediately. It warms something inside of Dean to think his brother cares about him enough to keep track of his schedule. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean says. “Though I think I’m gonna have to order food because my fridge is frighteningly empty.”

“You didn’t get lunch at work?” Sam marvels.

Dean clears his throat. “Nah. I had to leave earlier today, so no lunch for me. I’m thinking Chinese. Thoughts?”

“But why?” Sam asks.

“I dunno, I just feel like wonton strips. Or maybe a soup?”

“No, why did you have to leave early? Did something happen?”

Dean winces as he goes into the house, kicks off his shoes, and plops onto the couch in the living room. 

“No, of course not,” he says.

“Dean.”

Sam sounds genuinely concerned, and Dean can’t help but give in. He’s sure he’ll regret it later, but right now, talking with Sam about it seems like a good idea. Especially since Sam isn’t here to give him the puppy eyes.

“Okay, kind of.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, then groans. “Care to elaborate? I’m not gonna pull every detail from you.”

Dean laughs quietly. “Maybe you should. It’d be like a therapy.”

“I’m not your therapist, though.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says because Sam is starting to sound pissy. “Okay, so… remember Cas?”

“The ‘It’s-Just-Sex’ Cas? Yeah, of course. What, it isn’t _just sex_ anymore?”

“Shut up,” Dean says. “It’s not even about that.”

“It isn’t?”

“...okay, not _just_ about that. I mean.”

“So you like him,” Sam guesses. Dean is glad he at least doesn’t sound too smug about it.

“That’s— yeah, okay. A little. But it’s not the main problem right now.” When Sam doesn’t say anything, just waits for Dean to gather his thoughts, Dean sighs and continues. “He’s leaving next week anyway so it’s not like I have any high hopes or anything. I’m not stupid.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Sam asks, voice gentle. He really is the best brother. “Are you worried he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Dean hums. “I’m pretty sure he does, actually. Still, nothing to be done about it. It’ll be over soon.”

“Dean, have you ever heard of long-distance relationships?”

Dean scoffs. “Yes, smartass. I don’t think it would work, though, we’re too different… And anyway, I’m not sure if we didn’t ruin it today.” 

“Did you guys fight?” Sam asks, concerned.

“Yeah, and it was big,” Dean mutters. “And there are only a few days left before he leaves, so I don’t think we can go back to what we had before.”

“You mean… sex?” Sam asks, sounding a bit uncomfortable. 

Dean smiles to himself. “Actually, Sam, we kinda had a date recently and it was all… nice. Like, it was different from what it was at the start, but it’s gonna be hard to go back to that… I think.”

“What did you fight about?” Sam asks. “If you wanna say, that is.”

Dean lets out a heavy sigh. “Hard to tell, really. We were underground and he messed up, kind of, and I got mad because it was irresponsible and dangerous, and then I think I just… I just couldn’t stop. He didn’t understand why I was like this because I—”

“You never told him about Dad,” Sam says quietly. “Did you?”

“No,” Dean admits. “And he wasn’t supposed to know. We were supposed to have fun and then he would leave and never have to deal with this.”

“Did he… say something? How did he react?”

“I don’t know,” Dean mutters. “I left before he could say anything. Sam, it’s just— I dunno. It just hit too close, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I know, but he was just so—”

“Irresponsible, I know,” Sam says with a quiet laugh. “But maybe he wasn’t? Maybe he genuinely made a mistake?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I know. He… he said he was sorry.”

Sam sighs. “And he had no idea about Dad.”

“Yup,” Dean mumbles. 

“So, what now? Are you still angry with him?”

Dean thinks about it. “I don’t know. Maybe a bit, because he should’ve been more careful. He knows how dangerous it is. But… I don’t know, Sam. It sucks. I hate it.”

“I know, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “And you know I’m sorry you’re so often reminded of what happened with Dad. I wish it didn’t have to be like that.”

“Sam…”

“I know, I know,” Sam says quickly, and Dean is so grateful that he doesn’t start his usual tirade right now. He’s not sure how he’d react. “Hey, by the way, remember what Dad always did on his weeks off?” 

Dean smiles. He knows what Sam is doing — trying to lighten up Dean’s mood by bringing up happy things… or whatever happy means for them. He doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“He would cook,” Dean chuckles. “A lot.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Said he was tired of canteen food and craving real food that didn’t come from a box. Maybe you should try cooking something, too. Instead of that Chinese.”

“I’d have to go out to buy food first,” Dean says. “And I think I’m too lazy.”

“Hey,” Sam says. “I actually have a suggestion.” When Dean only hums, Sam continues, “What if I come visit you next week and then you’ll have a reason to cook something. You know I love your burgers.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “That doesn’t sound half bad, Sammy.”

“So is that a yes?” Sam asks, hesitant. “Can I drop by for a few days?”

“Of course, Sam, you know you’re always welcomed here. Just… could you come on Friday?” 

“Oh. Okay. Dare I ask why on Friday?”

Dean bites down on his lip. “It’s just— Cas leaves Thursday morning.”

“So you’re gonna try talking with him?” Sam asks, sounding hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean murmurs. “Maybe. But I’d rather give you all my attention once you’re actually here, and it probably won’t happen until Friday.” He’s quiet for a second, and then he sighs heavily. “I know it sounds so silly.”

“A little, yes,” Sam laughs, the jerk. “But I’m glad. I don’t know the whole story, but I’d like you to get one more chance at… whatever this is that you have with Cas. Even if it’ll only last five more days.”

Dean smiles. “Thanks, Sam. I actually think I can’t wait to see you.”

Sam laughs good-naturedly. “Same. Now go get your ass shopping and buy everything you need for those burgers, because I wasn’t kidding about them.”

Dean chuckles, says his goodbyes, and hangs up. He stares off into the distance for a moment, already planning a list of what to buy — Sam might have been right about this whole cooking thing — and then he looks down on his phone and is surprised to see it blowing up with text and call notifications.

His heart picks up speed when he opens the messages. Most of them are from Cesar and his other co-workers, wishing him to get well soon and to have a good week off. There’s one from Cas, too, though, and Dean hesitates for a second before opening it.

_Please call me back as soon as you get this. I really need to talk to you._

There are five missed calls from him, as well. Dean swallows, hard, and opens the text again to respond — though he doesn’t really know how — when his phone starts ringing again. 

It’s Cas.

It’s now or never, Dean thinks, and picks up.

“Dean,” Cas says immediately. “Thank you for answering.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “Hi.”

“Dean,” Cas repeats tentatively. “Can I come over? I’d really like to see you. And talk to you, if that’s possible.”

“No,” Dean says and stands up from the couch. 

He hears Cas’ loud intake of breath. “Dean, please,” Cas says, voice a little frantic. “You don’t even realize how sorry I am—”

“No, I meant,” Dean walks out of the living room and bends to retrieve his shoes from where they had been kicked under the cabinet, “I’ll come to you.”

“Oh,” Cas says quietly. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “I was thinking of getting some food. Do you like Chinese?”

“Chinese is good,” Cas says gently. “I’ll be in my room, then.”

“Great,” Dean says and hangs up.

He almost can’t believe he’s doing it, but at least he won’t have to do it on an empty stomach.

***

Dean only has to knock once before the door swings open, revealing Cas in his usual dress pants and white shirt, the same thing he wore back in the mine. The shirt is slightly dirty, especially near the cuffs, but Cas doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to it, looking at Dean all thankful and nervous instead.

“Hi,” Dean says. He lifts a hand holding the plastic bag of Chinese food. “I got us food.”

Cas sends him a tiny smile. “Come on in, please.”

Dean shuffles in and Cas locks the door behind him, and then they both stand awkwardly for a moment, not looking at each other and not speaking. Finally, Dean clears his throat and tries to meet Cas’ eyes.

“So, do you mind eating from the boxes?”

“No,” Cas says quickly. “Of course not.”

“Great.” Dean deposits the bag onto the small table by the window and fumbles with it for a moment. “What would you like? I got soup, wontons, sweet and sour chicken, some dumplings...”

“It’s okay,” Cas says. “I’m not that hungry.”

“Here, choose whatever you like,” Dean says, grabs a box of wontons for himself, and looks around to find a place to sit. Apart from the bed — and doesn’t it bring back memories — there’s only one chair standing by the closet. He sits down and starts eating without another look at Cas.

“Would you like something to drink?” Cas asks. “I could order up some tea or coffee, unless you’d want a beer or wine or maybe—”

“Thanks, I’m good,” Dean says. “Just hungry.”

“Okay,” Cas says quietly, and goes over to pick something to eat. 

Dean thinks he’ll sit down on the bed, but Cas stays where he is, his back turned to Dean, his hands unmoving where they grip the box of dumplings. Dean clears his throat and stands up reluctantly. Maybe he misjudged — maybe Cas is still angry at him and doesn’t want to share food with him, let alone talk. Dean was hoping Cas had something to say, because he has no idea how to start the conversation they obviously need to have, and it’s going to be awkward if they just sit in silence and eat.

“I’m gonna—”

“Dean, I—”

Cas has turned to face Dean and their eyes meet when they both stop talking at the same time. Dean snorts and looks down. 

“Sorry,” Cas says. “You first.”

“No, go on,” Dean says.

Cas nods solemnly. “Please, sit down,” he says quietly. “I promise I’ll try to be quick.”

Dean looks back at the chair, and then chooses to sit down on the edge of the bed instead. Cas’ eyes follow his movements carefully and he stares at Dean for a moment before opening his mouth to speak again. He shuffles closer, too, but doesn’t sit down next to Dean.

“Judging by the fact that you’re here and are willing to talk to me, I understand you don’t hate me completely,” Cas says slowly.

Dean looks up at him, but Cas is staring down at his own feet, a dark blush high on his cheeks. He ignores the sudden urge to stand up and sweep Cas into his arms — at least for now.

“Even though you have every right to do so,” Cas says.

Dean frowns. “That’s not—”

“Please, Dean, let me just— I need to say it,” Cas murmurs, glancing at him shyly. “I’m grateful you’re here, but I need to tell you… you need to understand how sorry I am—”

“Cas, no,” Dean says, standing up. “Stop it.”

“Dean,” Cas looks at him pleadingly. “I know I behaved horribly. I should have been more careful and I should have never said those things to you—”

“You didn’t know,” Dean interrupts loudly. “How were you supposed to know? I never told you.”

“Still,” Cas says, “you were the one in charge there, the one with more experience, and I—”

“So you made a mistake,” Dean says. “So what? It happens. I shouldn’t’ve lashed out at you like that.”

Cas looks up and stares at him, eyes wide. “I was irresponsible,” he says.

“Yeah, and I was an asshole. We’re even,” Dean says, shrugging.

Cas shakes his head. “Dean. I’m so sorry about your father. And for all the things I said.”

“You didn’t know,” Dean repeats and flops down to the bed. “It’s okay.”

Cas shuffles closer, stopping right in front of him. “May I ask what happened?”

Dean looks up and meets Cas’ eyes. They’re big and gentle and so, so blue. On instinct, he reaches out and takes a hold of Cas’ hand.

“He was a miner. It’s a family business,” he says, watching his thumb brush against the soft skin of Cas’ hand. “Died on the job. Premature blast. Wasn't anyone’s fault, really.”

“When was it?” Cas asks gently. He moves his hand and twines his fingers with Dean’s.

“A few years ago,” Dean says. “I was twenty-five.”

Cas sucks in a breath, and then he’s moving to sit down next to Dean. He keeps Dean’s hand in his and presses their arms together.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“Yeah. It was just me and Sam after that.” When he meets Cas’ questioning gaze, he sighs. “Mom passed away when I was a kid.”

Cas’ hold on Dean’s hand tightens, and then he’s leaning in and wrapping his arms around Dean. He’s surprised at first, but then melts into the embrace, hiding his face in Cas’ neck and breathing him in. Cas cards gentle fingers through his hair and nuzzles against the side of his face.

It’s so strange, Dean thinks, how far they’ve come since their first meeting. What started as fiery gazes and furious hook ups has turned into Dean seeking solace in Cas’ arms, wanting nothing but to keep him close and feel his slow heartbeat. Something painful twists at his insides and he grabs hold of Cas’ shirt and pulls him closer.

It hurts more when he thinks about how he’s going to lose it all in less than five days.

He lets go slowly, pulling away without really meeting Cas’ eyes. 

“I should go,” he says. He doesn’t offer any excuses, but he thinks Cas doesn’t need them anyway. All they did was talk, but even though they tried to explain everything, Dean can still feel that things between them are a bit awkward. It wouldn’t make much sense for him to stick around and make tense conversation.

“Of course,” Cas whispers. “Unless you want to stay,” he offers shyly.

Dean looks up and exhales loudly. He wants to. He wants to stay so badly it hurts, but they’ve never really spent the night together before, and he’s not sure this day is the best for it. They’re both exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and Dean really needs to gather his thoughts before going any further. 

“Raincheck?” he asks with a sheepish smile.

Cas nods, and when their eyes meet again, Dean can see the same question he feels himself: will there even be a next time for them? Cas is leaving in five days. They’ve never even talked about this thing between them. The idea of spending more time with Cas has never seemed so out of reach. 

But neither of them say it out loud. Cas leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Have a good weekend, Dean,” he says quietly.

When Dean stands up and leaves, it’s with the phantom feel of Cas’ lips against his face and his heart twice as heavy as it was barely half an hour ago.


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel finishes buttoning his crisp white shirt and surveys the collection of ties scattered across his bed with a critical eye. The blue stripes, or the solid black? He picks up the blue one, running the silky fabric through his hands, but a knock on the door stops him before he can put it on.

“Not ready yet, Cas?” Balthazar says disapprovingly, pushing his way into the room without waiting for an invitation. Meg and Hannah follow behind him, both wearing incredibly expensive-looking cocktail dresses.

Ignoring Balthazar, Castiel turns to Meg and Hannah and says, “You both look lovely.”

“Thank you, Cas,” Hannah says politely, while Meg simply smirks and nods.

“Need some help, there?” she asks, indicating the ties on the bed. All of Castiel’s other things have already been neatly packed, so the mess is even more noticeable. 

“Please,” Castiel says fervently. He smacks Balthazar’s hand away as he tries to hold up different ties against Castiel’s chest, laughing to himself.

“Oh, I like the red one,” Meg declares. “With the white shirt and the grey suit? Very sharp.”

Castiel takes it hesitantly. “It’s a bit loud,” he says doubtfully. 

“It looks nice,” Hannah says. “It’s our last night here. Have some fun.”

Turning his back to his friends, Castiel quickly wraps the tie around around the neck, grateful for the chance to hide his face and control his expression. He’s been trying so hard to forget the reason they’re so dressed up: a farewell party for the consulting team, hosted by the company at a nearby banquet facility.

Their six weeks here in Nevada have completely flown by. It seems like a long time, but for Castiel, it’s felt like barely a blink of his eyes. It’s sweet, he supposes, that the company wants to throw a farewell party for them, but it only draws his attention to the fact that they’re leaving tomorrow.

“I hope they have good wine,” Balthazar comments, coming to stand beside Castiel in front of the mirror and elbowing him out of the way so he can fix his hair. “With all the increases in profitability this little venture of ours is expected to bring, one can hope they’d indulge in some quality alcohol for this event.”

“I’ve got you covered,” Meg says. She rummages in her purse for a moment and pulls out a small silver flask, passing it to Balthazar with a grin. He salutes her and takes a sip, then offers it to Castiel, who declines with a shake a of his head. He has things other than alcohol to look forward to tonight.

Thanks to the poor timing of Dean’s week off from work, they’ve only seen each other twice since their fight the past Friday. They haven’t talked about it, and nor have they talked about the fact that Castiel is leaving tomorrow. Despite the way Castiel knows they’re closer than ever after those awful moments down in the tunnels, they’ve almost reverted to the way they acted around another at the very beginning: frantic, passionate, and decidedly impersonal. 

There’s too much to say, and not enough time to say it, so instead, they say nothing at all.

But if this is their last night together, Castiel wants to make it memorable. He still isn’t sure exactly how Dean feels about him, but he has his pride. He wants to leave an impression, to make sure Dean remembers him and the six weeks they spent together, because he knows he’ll do exactly the same thing.

So he takes a last glance in the mirror, adjusts his hair carefully, and smooths down the blood-red tie. It does look good, he notes with a smile. Certainly memorable.

“The car will be here any minute,” Hannah says, ever practical. “Are we all ready?”

“Yes, Mother,” Balthazar says with a slight roll of his eyes, but he presses a fond kiss to her cheek as he passes her on his way to the door. 

Meg’s flask is passed back and forth between them during the short drive to the banquet facility. Castiel tries to keep a smile on his face and engage in the conversation, but he’s distracted. He wonders what Dean will be wearing. He’s never seen him dressed up before. Wistfully, he imagines the two of them dancing together, but knows that can never happen. They can’t call attention to themselves in such a way, even on this last night.

When they exit the car, Castiel holds the door for the others so he has an excuse not to be at the front of the group when they walk in. The room is crowded, what looks to be the entire staff of the site turning to look as they enter. Castiel swallows roughly and flexes his hands, pasting on an easy smile. 

“Welcome,” Crowley says, appearing in front of them. “Our guests of honour have arrived!”

There’s some polite applause from the assembled guests, but most of them look more interested in returning to their drinks than they do in greeting the consultants. Castiel can’t blame them. They’ve developed some good relationships with certain people, but he doubts the vast majority of them will miss them after they’re gone. 

Crowley leads them to a table near the front of the room, and after some quick greetings to the team leaders seated with them, Castiel catches Meg’s eye and nods towards the bar. She grins and takes off in that direction, Castiel following closely behind.

He isn’t particularly interested in drinking, but this gives him a good opportunity to survey the room and attempt to locate Dean. He’s likely being less than subtle as his gaze sweeps over the tables, but he can’t bring himself to care.

They’re just approaching the bar when he catches sight of a familiar profile down at the other end. Of course, he thinks wryly, Dean is also at the bar. He murmurs something to Meg and makes his way towards Dean, nervously adjusting his tie as he goes.

“Hello,” he says, voice pitched low. “I was wondering where you were.”

Dean turns at the sound of his voice, a smile on his face. Castiel takes a second to drink in the sight of him in his navy pinstripe jacket, the way it brings out the golden strands in his hair and the green in his eyes. He looks stunning. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says. His own eyes travel slowly down the length of Castiel’s body and then one corner of his mouth quirks upwards. “You look good, but--” He steps closer and reaches out to adjust that damn red tie, straightening it so it falls properly against Castiel’s chest. Castiel does his best not to lean into the touch.

“Much better,” Dean declares, stepping back slightly. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says, making a mental note not to touch the tie again for the rest of the night. 

The bartender brings a glass of whiskey over to Dean and gives Castiel an inquisitive look. He shakes his head politely and she disappears to look after someone else. 

“Not drinking tonight?” Dean asks

“Not yet,” Castiel replies lightly. “If I find out I have to make some sort of speech, that may change.”

“Oh, come on, you’re great up there,” Dean says encouragingly. 

“You didn’t think so at first,” Castiel replies, smiling at the memory of Dean’s interruptions during his first presentation to the miners.

“That was a long time ago,” Dean says softly, holding Castiel’s gaze. “Things change.”

Castiel blinks, trying to sift through all the possible interpretations of Dean’s words, but a hand on his elbow distracts him. “Come on, Cas,” Meg says. “We have to get up there so Crowley can toast us or something.”

Dean gives them a tight smile, and Castiel glances back over his shoulder as Meg leads him away. He hopes there will be more time for mingling later.

They take their seats at their table, and Hannah gives them a curious glance, but there’s no time to talk as Crowley heads to the small podium and taps lightly on the microphone. 

“Good evening, everyone,” he says, and a hush falls over the room. “It’s wonderful to see you all here, looking so sharp. As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’re gathered here tonight to say farewell to the representatives of Liberty Executive Solutions who have been our guests for the past six weeks. We have worked with them, learned with them, and strengthened the ties between our two separate but equally important industries.” He turns to look at Castiel and his team with a surprisingly genuine smile on his face. “We’ll miss having you among us, but we wish you all the best upon your return to New York.”

The room bursts into polite applause, and Crowley returns to his seat. “That was brief,” Hannah comments.

“Yes, well, it’s difficult to hold this lot’s attention for long,” Crowley says. “As I’m sure you know.”

“All too well,” Meg says dryly. “I have become rather fond of them, though.” Her gaze settles somewhere in the far corner of the room and Castiel glances that way, wondering who she’s looking at, but there are too many people between them for him to get a clear line of sight.

The food is quite good, and as they chat with Crowley and the team leaders, Castiel is surprised at how much he’s enjoying himself. He is going to miss this place, these people, more than he expected. 

That doesn’t stop him from standing the second the dinner plates have been cleared and making his way back to the bar. This time, he does order a drink, and he’s gratified when not five minutes later, Dean walks over to join him.

“I guess I should be thanking you for giving us an excuse to have this party,” Dean says with a laugh. “They’d never spend so much money on something just for us grunts.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Castiel protests, but Dean doesn’t look convinced. 

“What’s not true?” Jo asks, sliding up beside them with Victor in tow. 

“Oh, nothing,” Dean says. “Castiel here was just asking if it’s true that your favourite karaoke song is by Shania Twain.”

Victor laughs, and Jo glares at him, but punches Dean lightly on the arm. “You’re just jealous of our deep connection,” she sniffs. 

“Speaking of…” Victor says. “Jo? Wanna dance?”

Castiel looks over his shoulder and notices that some of the tables have been pulled aside to make room for a dance floor in the centre of the room. Groups of people are already making their way over, and with a bright grin, Jo places her hand in Victor’s and allows herself to be led away.

Dean looks over at Castiel, his expression unreadable. “Do you like to dance?” he asks.

“Is that an invitation?” Castiel replies, lifting one eyebrow. 

Dean hesitates, looking around the room. “We shouldn’t,” he says quietly. 

Castiel nods. He wishes it weren’t the case, but Dean is right. At least the two of them chatting here at the bar shouldn’t cause too many tongues to wag. He moves slightly closer to Dean, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and hears the slight catch of Dean’s breath as he does. 

“Cas…” he murmurs, but makes no further protest.

It would be so easy, Castiel thinks, to sneak away. To drag Dean into the bathroom or some corner and slide his hands under that jacket, run them all over the firm lines of Dean’s body. But if this is going to be their last night together, Castiel wants more than that, more than what they’ve had before. 

He just hopes Dean wants the same thing.

Before he can broach the subject, though, Jo returns, a twinkle in her eyes as she holds out her hand to Castiel. “None of your friends are dancing,” she informs him. “I think they’re shy. Come on, Novak, let’s lead by example.”

He casts a helpless look back at Victor and Dean, who both shake their heads like they want nothing to do this. “Very well,” he sighs as they step onto the dance floor. “You’re a very persuasive woman, Miss Harvelle.”

“I know,” she says, grinning up at him as they begin to sway together. It’s a fast-paced song, at least, nothing with any romantic undertones to it. He hears a sharp whistle from the front of the room and looks over to see Balthazar grinning at them, cheering loudly. A few minutes later, he’s twirling past them with Amara in his arms, the two of them surprisingly well-matched. Castiel and Jo both laugh at the sight.

The dance floor fills around them, and Castiel sees Dean approach Hannah, who has been sitting off to the side up to this point. He offers her his hand with a little smile, and Hannah look at it for a second before accepting it gracefully. It’s a kind gesture, and it makes Castiel’s heart give a funny little flip in his chest.

Jo follows his gaze and her own eyes go soft when as she watches Dean and Hannah dancing together. “He’s a good guy,” she says. 

“He is,” Castiel agrees without thinking, but fortunately, Jo doesn’t seem to notice the fondness in his voice. 

Across the dance floor, Dean catches his eyes and winks at him. Castiel sends him a small smile in response, and then the song changes, something loud and raucous with clear instructions on how to dance to it, and the entire room splits into long lines to perform accordingly. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Crowley recording the entire thing on his phone, but he just laughs and keeps dancing.

Once the song finishes, he heads back to the bar to grab a glass of water. Hannah finds him there, her cheeks pink from the wine or from the dancing, and drags him back to the front of the room. “We have to thank everyone for being here,” she insists. “I can’t find Meg, so you’ll have to do it.”

“Could have given me more warning,” he grumbles, but he steps up to the podium anyway as the music slowly fades out. 

“Hello, everyone,” he says into the microphone, pleased to note that he sounds calm and collected. “Thank you for all being here tonight.”

He takes a second to let his eyes travel the room, an old trick Michael taught him to make everyone in the audience feel included in his words. Of course, his gaze lingers on Dean, standing off to the side, his lips curved in a fond smile as he listens to Castiel speak.

“It has been an honour and a pleasure to work alongside you all, these past six weeks,” he continues. “As Mr. Crowley said, we’ve learned a great deal from you. I’d like to thank you all, on behalf of myself and my colleagues, for being so welcoming and accommodating.”

There’s a faint hint of laughter from the crowd, and Castiel acknowledges it with a little laugh of his own. “It wasn’t always an easy ride,” he admits, “but we overcame our differences, I think, and found ways to work in harmony.”

His eyes find Dean again, and his voice softens slightly. “I hope that when we leave here, we leave you with lasting memories of our time together. It has truly been one of the most enriching experiences of my life, being here with you, and I hope you feel the same way. I wish you all the best in the future, and hope that someday our paths will cross again.”

He steps down from the podium as the applause starts and drops back into his chair, knees suddenly weak. Hannah gives him an approving smile and passes him a glass of water. “Good work,” she says. “Very dignified.”

“Well, considering I didn’t know I was going to be giving a speech, I think I did alright,” he comments.

“Blame Meg,” Hannah says with a shrug. “It was supposed to be her job.” She looks down at her phone and frowns. “I should go check on her,” she says. 

“Good idea,” Castiel agrees. He’s quite certain Meg is fine, but if Hannah is distracted, she won’t notice him sneaking away himself.

Hannah nods decisively and heads in the direction of the bar. Castiel waits a moment, then weaves his way through the crowd until he reaches Dean’s side. “Nice speech,” Dean says as he approaches. “Especially considering you didn’t get a chance to get much liquid courage.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replies, ducking his head. For some reason, Dean’s praise warms him in a way Hannah’s didn’t. 

“Is that it, for the formal obligations?”

“I certainly hope so,” Castiel mutters.

Dean takes a step closer, his hand brushing against Castiel’s elbow as he leans in towards him. “Then how would you feel about getting out of here?”

Castiel licks his lips, suddenly gone dry, and sees Dean’s eyes darken as he does. “I should say goodbye,” he protests faintly.

“Alright.” Dean is so close, his breath warm against Castiel’s ear, the smell of his cologne flooding his senses and making his knees go weak. “It’s probably better if we leave a few minutes apart anyway. Did you drive here?”

“No,” Castiel murmurs. “Took a cab.”

“I have my car. Meet me outside in five minutes.”

Dean moves away, and Castiel immediately misses his presence. He takes a deep breath, then scans the room for Jo and some of the other members of Dean’s team in order to wish them farewell.

Jo gives him a tight hug, Benny and Victor shake his hand and offer what seem like sincere goodbyes, and then Castiel is ducking out the door before Balthazar catches a glimpse of him and asks why he’s leaving so early. He finds Dean’s car pulled up just to the side of the main entrance and slides into the passenger seat.

Dean gives him a quick glance, a half-smile, and then they’re on their way.

They pass the turn they should take to head back to Castiel’s hotel and he frowns, looking over at Dean. “Shouldn’t we have turned left there?”

“Not going to the hotel,” Dean says briefly, then gives him a cautious look. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Sure.” The last time Castiel let Dean take him somewhere as a surprise, they ended up on that backroad staring up at the stars. He’s content to go wherever Dean leads.

Though he has no predictions as to their destination, he’s still taken by surprise when Dean turns into a residential neighbourhood and pulls the Impala into his driveway. “Oh,” Castiel breathes. He’s only been to Dean’s house once before, and he wonders what it means that Dean brought him back here now.

“Come on,” Dean says, pushing open the car door and heading up the driveway. 

Castiel pays a bit more attention, this time. He glances at the framed photographs in the entryway, the beaming smile on Dean’s face as he stands with a tall man Castiel assumes is Sam. There are older photos as well, a young, fresh-faced Dean in a safety hat that’s far too big for him, a dark-haired man with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, dressed in the same gear. 

Dean catches him looking and smiles sadly. “My dad,” he says by way of explanation, but doesn’t elaborate.

Knowing what he does about Dean’s father and what happened to him, it’s probably best not to ask for more details, so Castiel just smiles. “You were a cute kid,” he remarks instead.

The blush that spreads across Dean’s cheeks make him look closer to the age he is in the photograph. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee, water?”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

He starts to say something else, but a wave of desperation crashes over Castiel and he surges forward to press his lips against Dean’s, silencing him. There’s no point being shy or coy, not now. He knows what they both want, and it isn’t a drink, nor is it stilted conversation and sidelong glances. 

It’s this: hands gripping expensive suit jackets, fabric bunching up between them, chests pressing together as they back up against the wall and their bodies meet as tightly as their lips. 

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, breaking away for a moment. “The suit and tie really get you going, huh?”

“Mmn-hmn,” Castiel agrees, nosing at the exposed skin of Dean’s throat. It’s not just that, of course. It’s this night, the immediacy of it all. The fancy clothes are just a bonus. Dean always looks good to him, whether he’s wearing this outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, his work gear, or nothing at all.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” Dean confesses, a lazy smile on his face as Castiel continues to nip at his neck. “You’d think I’d be used to the way you fill out a suit by now. But this--” he reaches out and tugs on Castiel’s red tie. “This is so fucking hot, and I can’t even explain why.”

Castiel steps closer, and Dean’s eyes sparkle as he reels him in, wrapping the tie around his hand until there’s no space left between them. They stare at each other for a moment, their breathing echoing in the silent house, and when Dean kisses him again, everything seems magnified by the tension growing thickly by the second.

“Upstairs,” Dean gasps after a moment. “Now.”

They stumble slightly on the stairs as they attempt to break contact, Dean tugging him by the hand and leading him into his bedroom. “Bed’s not as big as yours,” Dean says with a breathless laugh. 

“I don’t care, as long as you’re in it,” Castiel tells him, and Dean pulls him in for another kiss as he reaches out to turn on the lamp on the bedside table.

Lit by its warm glow, Dean takes a step back and slowly, deliberately shrugs out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Castiel moves to mimic him, but a shake of Dean’s head stops him. “Wait,” Dean says. “Please.”

Entranced, Castiel watches as Dean slowly removes the rest of his clothing, piece by piece. He licks his lips as Dean unbuttons his shirt, then unbuckles his pants, until he’s wearing nothing but a pair of plain black boxer-briefs that do nothing to hide the bulge of his erection. 

“C’mere,” he says softly.

Helpless, Castiel goes to him. Dean wraps one hand around his tie again and uses the other to gently tilt Castiel’s head up and kiss him deeply. As Castiel melts into his embrace, Dean begins sliding the tie off, then unbuttoning his shirt. 

Dean undresses him with torturous slowness, fingers brushing lightly against Castiel’s skin in a teasing torment. When he rests his hands at Castiel’s waist, running them gently across the exposed skin of his stomach, Castiel groans, tipping his head back and nodding furiously. 

“Please,” he begs. 

His pants fall to the ground seconds later, and then Dean is backing them up towards the bed, falling onto it with ease and pulling Castiel down after him. Their hands are everywhere, their limbs tangling together. It’s overwhelming. Castiel pulls away for a brief second to catch his breath, to centre himself, and Dean props himself up on one elbow, giving him a concerned look.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Castiel replies. “Just--”

“Yeah.” Dean gives him a lopsided smile, running a soothing hand down Castiel’s back. He arches into the touch, and Dean laughs softly. “What do you want, Cas?”

The answer to that question is complicated. He wants too much: not to have to leave tomorrow, not to have to say goodbye to Dean, not to care this much about him in the first place. But those aren’t things he can have.

“Just want to be close to you,” he mumbles. It’s an ambiguous enough statement, or so he hopes.

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice rough. “Sounds good to me.”

He reaches out and grasps Castiel around the waist, flipping him onto his back with ease and smiling down at him, clearly pleased with himself. Castiel smiles back, swept up in his charm, as Dean kisses his way down Castiel’s chest until he reaches his groin.

“Can I take these off?” he murmurs, tugging lightly on his underwear. “Wanna taste you.”

“Christ,” Castiel murmurs, shifting restlessly just at the thought. “Yes.”

Dean flashes him another grin and then strips Castiel bare. He nuzzles lightly at his stomach and then, without another word, wraps his mouth around his straining length.

It’s unfair, Castiel thinks distantly, how good Dean is at this. How he knows exactly how to make Castiel fall apart under him. One of Dean’s hands is curled around his hip, rough and warm, steadying him. The other holds the base of his cock as he slides it further into his mouth, just the right amount of pressure to make Castiel moan. 

Dean pulls away and Castiel whines, hips thrusting into empty air. Dean presses a kiss to his shoulder and leans over to root through the bedside table, coming back with a condom and a bottle of lube. “Spread your legs a little more for me,” he instructs gently, and Castiel hastens to obey.

“You look so perfect like this,” Dean murmurs, his gaze frank and admiring as his eyes sweep over Castiel’s body. “I wish--”

He doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, he leans over and presses their lips back together. Castiel can taste himself on Dean’s lips, the intimacy of it sending a shiver down his spine. Slowly, not taking his mouth away from Castiel’s, Dean nudges between his legs and strokes over his entrance with one lube-slicked finger, then presses inside.

Castiel pants softly as Dean works him open, stopping to press kisses over every inch of his skin, murmuring incomprehensible things into the crook of his shoulder or the sharp cut of his hip bones. Castiel lets his head fall back against the pillows and luxuriates in the way Dean’s fingers feel inside him, sure and certain, grazing over his prostate and sending electricity sparking through his entire body.

He could come like this, he knows, and while the idea is appealing, he wants more. He’s allowed to be greedy, especially tonight. So he raises his head and meets Dean’s gaze, imploring. He’s afraid if he says the words out loud, other truths will come spilling out alongside them. He hopes Dean will understand what he’s asking for, and when Dean gently withdraws his hand and kisses him again, he knows he was successful.

While Dean is distracted pulling off his underwear, Castiel picks up the condom and tears open the package, then pulls Dean back towards him. He strokes him a few times, watching the way Dean’s entire body tenses under his touch, then rolls it over his length. Dean laughs, breathless, and settles between his legs, but doesn’t push forward right away.

Castiel closes his eyes as Dean traces the line of his eyebrow, then the edge of his cheekbones, and finally the curve of his jaw. “Open your eyes,” Dean says, and when Castiel does, he lines himself up and slides into him with one smooth thrust.

This is what Castiel needs: Dean’s weight above him, Dean’s breath warm against him, Dean’s cock filling him in the most incredible way. He reaches up and runs his hands down the smooth skin of Dean’s back, feeling his muscles flex under his touch, and wraps his legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Still, it’s not close enough. 

Dean exhales deeply and begins to move, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. “Feel so good,” he says. “God, Cas--”

“I know,” Castiel tells him. “Dean--”

“Never felt this good,” Dean continues. “Never even close.”

He’s thrusting deeper and deeper into Castiel as he speaks, and Castiel can’t find the words to reply, so he just groans and nods, signaling his agreement. They’ve had sex every imaginable way, it seems, but Dean’s right, it’s never been quite like this. 

Castiel refuses to acknowledge why.

He focuses instead on the way Dean is hitting his prostate with unerring accuracy, the way Dean is dropping small kisses all over his face as his rhythm begins to falter. “Touch me,” Castiel begs. They’ve done this often enough for him to know the signs. Dean is close, and Castiel wants to follow soon after.

“I’ve got you,” Dean murmurs, reaching down to stroke him. “I’ve got you, Cas.”

If only that were the truth. If only they had each other for more than this last night. Castiel shakes away his thoughts, letting his pleasure overwhelm him. “Dean,” he murmurs. “Going to--”

“Yeah, baby, do it,” Dean encourages, mouthing sloppily at the side of his neck. 

Maybe it’s the roughness in his voice, maybe it’s the endearment, but whatever it is, it’s enough. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and comes on a drawn-out sigh, his entire body going limp and boneless as he spills over Dean’s hand.

“Gorgeous,” Dean says, still inside him. “Christ, Cas. Can I--”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, opening his eyes and looking up at him. Dean’s eyes are glassy, glinting in the lamplight, his hair in sweat-matted spikes. Castiel’s heart clenches in his chest as he realizes this is the last time he’ll see Dean like this.

With three more snaps of his hips, Dean is coming, one hand digging into Castiel’s side hard enough that it will likely leave marks. Castiel hopes it will, hopes for that tangible reminder of this closeness. 

Dean slumps forward, breathing heavily, and Castiel absently runs his hands through his hair. After a few moments, he stirs, pulling himself off and out of Castiel’s body. Castiel reaches out for the box of tissues on the nightstand and they clean each other up in silence, both of them letting their touches linger longer than is necessary. 

Castiel starts to pull away, knowing this is how it always ends between them. He’s debating asking Dean to drive him back to his hotel, counting on his good nature and unfailing kindness in order to prolong their time together, when Dean looks at him, his face unsure, and says, “Do you want to stay?”

He shouldn’t. They have a flight at noon the next day, and the longer he stays, the more it will hurt when he eventually does leave. He can’t read Dean’s tone, either: is it a genuine offer, or one borne of politeness? Maybe he’s hoping for another round before the night is over. 

Castiel doesn’t care. “Okay,” he says, as though there was any chance at all he would answer differently. 

Dean smiles at him, bright and brilliant, and settles back against the pillows, rubbing his face against them as he covers a yawn. “Wore me out,” he laughs.

Castiel laughs as well, and then, greatly daring, reaches out to pull Dean closer. Dean goes easily, shifting back and rolling over so he’s facing away from Castiel, who wraps an arm around him and pulls him against his chest. They fit together so well, so naturally, it’s a wonder they’ve never done this before. 

It’s a shame they’ll never do it again, because Castiel is asleep within minutes.

***

He wakes alone, which is disappointing but not unexpected. He gives himself a few minutes to adjust to the knowledge that he spent the entire night in Dean’s bed, with Dean in his arms, and then pulls himself away from the warmth and comfort. He dresses quickly, leaving his tie and jacket off and his shirt only semi-buttoned, then heads down the stairs.

He expects to find Dean in a similar state, whatever closeness they shared the night before left behind them, so he’s completely caught off guard when he walks into the kitchen to find Dean standing in front of the stove in a grey and white plaid robe, flipping pancakes in the air. 

“Good morning,” he greets Castiel. “There’s coffee in the pot, and these will be ready in just a few minutes.”

Castiel isn’t quite sure how to reply. He busies himself fixing a cup of coffee instead, but almost drops it when Dean sidles up beside him and presses a kiss to his cheek, soft and affectionate. “Good morning, Dean,” he manages.

He thought it would be hard to walk away after the description-defying sex they’d had the night before, but this...this will be even worse. Dean is humming to himself as he checks the pancakes, pulling down plates and setting out cutlery on the small kitchen table. It’s exactly the kind of scene Castiel yearns for, and he pinches himself, wondering if he’s still asleep.

He isn’t. This is real, and Dean is really doing this, and he really still has to leave in just a few hours.

Dean passes him a plate loaded high with pancakes and sliced strawberries, then gestures him towards a chair. “Eat up,” he advises. “They’re not going to feed you on that flight.”

“They serve a light meal in business class,” Castiel replies without thinking. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, right, mister project manager.” His words would sting, but he winks at Castiel as he says them, and Castiel just rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his pancakes. 

They’re delicious, and he tells Dean so, enjoying the way his eyes light up at the praise. Their feet tangle together beneath the table and Castiel makes sure to take his time eating, unwilling to let these precious moments slip by.

“Looking forward to going home?” Dean asks as they’re sipping the last of the coffee. 

Castiel just shrugs. “Not looking forward to seeing certain of my co-workers again,” he admits, and Dean laughs.

“The one you hung up on?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Well, it seems like you know how to handle him,” Dean comments. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

It’s not the declaration of feeling Castiel wishes it to be, but it is a positive statement, and he acknowledges it with a smile. “Thank you.”

He pulls out his phone to check the time and winces when he sees the number of missed calls and texts from his team, wondering where he is. He quickly types a message to Balthazar asking him to arrange for a taxi directly from here to the airport. Balthazar replies instantaneously, confirming the car will be there in fifteen minutes, and Castiel puts his phone away before the more invasive questions can begin.

Dean watches him from over the top of his mug. “Time to go?”

Castiel wishes he could read his tone better, but Dean is doing a good job keeping his voice and expression neutral. “Yes,” he says.

“Right.” Dean puts down his mug and rises to his feet. “Well.”

Castiel stands and closes the distance between them. He swallows heavily, then leans forward and presses his lips against Dean’s. He tastes like coffee and maple syrup and strawberries and everything Castiel has ever wanted.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he says, heart in his throat. 

Dean walks him to the door, and when they see the taxi pull up in front of the house, he offers a small smile. “Bye, Cas,” he says. “It’s been--” He pauses, as though searching for the right word. “Fun.”

The word echoes in Castiel’s head, drowning out the sound of his phone chiming with a new notification, likely from the driver of the cab. _Fun_. After everything, that’s what Dean has reduced their time together to. He opens his mouth, but no words come forth. Instead, he gives a jerky nod, then turns his back to Dean and walks out the door.

He doesn’t look up as he enters the cab and tells the driver to head to the airport. As they speed towards the highway, Castiel takes his last long look at the Nevada desert, wishing his view wasn’t blurred by tears. 


	13. Chapter 13

_Fun._

Dean stares at the closed door, unblinking, and can still hear his own voice ringing loudly in his ears, repeating “fun” over and over and over again. He said “fun.” He could’ve said literally everything else — amazing, life-changing, the best thing that has ever happened in his life — but no. _It’s been fun._

He can still see Cas — in a wrinkled shirt, with messy hair, and big sad eyes — standing right there, by his door, looking at him, and waiting for Dean to finish his thought. Dean could see the exact second his words hit Cas, because his entire face visibly crumpled, eyes widening, mouth falling open as if he wanted to say something. He didn’t, though, just sent Dean one last look — did he look sad? Annoyed? Disappointed? Dean isn’t sure anymore — and was out the door within seconds.

A slam of the car door brings Dean out of his reverie and he rushes outside, mindless of the fact that he’s still in his robe and slippers. He wants to call out Cas’ name, turn him back just so he can explain — it wasn’t just _fun_ for Dean, it was so, so much more than just _fun_ — but then he notices the cab pulling out of the driveway and disappearing around the corner.

He stands there like a complete idiot for a few long moments, his mind whirring. Cas is gone. Cas left, probably never to come back, and Dean just wasted his last chance to tell him how he feels. To tell him how amazing it was to hold Cas in his arms, to wake up next to him for the very first time, and look down on his face as he slept, tracing fingertips along the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. Cas was so beautiful in the morning light falling through the windows of Dean’s bedroom, and Dean never wanted to let go of him.

And yet he did. He made him breakfast, and coffee, and kissed him goodbye, and never told him how he feels.

He goes back inside and walks into the empty kitchen. They left everything on the table. Dean sits down in his chair and looks over at the place where Cas sat just five minutes ago. There’s a little bit of coffee left in his mug and Dean picks it up slowly, turning it around in his hands. Cas’ lips have left a tiny coffee mark on the cup’s rim. Dean’s hit with the thought that it was the first and last time Cas has ever used Dean’s mug to drink coffee, the first and last time he ate breakfast in his kitchen. It feels so empty, all of a sudden — too big for just one person, too lonely.

Dean dumps the dishes into the sink, not even caring if they might break, and stomps upstairs to take a shower and get a grip on himself. He walks into the bedroom, notices the unmade bed, and his heart sinks.

Without thinking, he lies down and burrows beneath the covers. They’re cold, but they smell different — they smell like sex, and warm bodies, and Cas.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers. Something prickles at his eyes and he closes them immediately, hiding his face in the pillows and breathing in the smell. He can’t let it get to him, _he can’t_. He had his chance and he blew it, spectacularly, and now he’s going to have to just deal with it.

Still, he spends the next half hour in bed, refusing to get up, to let go of the last remnants of Cas in his house. He realizes he has never even taken a picture of Cas — what if he forgets how he looked in a month? Is that all it was — just six weeks of _fun_ , and then sayonara, see you never? Did they mean so little to each other, couldn’t Cas just _do_ something?

“Hypocrite,” Dean chides himself. It’s his fault, more than Cas’, and he knows it. Him and his stupid inability to communicate with people, the thing Sam always rambles on about. He wanted to ask Cas to stay so _badly_ , and then he went and ruined it.

They never even talked about what happens next. The last few days felt so different than the beginning of their acquaintanceship, but they never agreed on how to proceed after Cas’ departure. Dean pulls his phone out of the pocket of his robe and thumbs at the little screen. He’s got Cas’ number, he could call him right now — wish him a safe flight once again, ask him to call him after he lands, explain how he never meant to say what he said. He could do it — but would Cas even pick up? Does he want anything to do with Dean? Their six weeks are over. Dean screwed up. Cas never offered to continue their relationship.

It’s been _fun_ , after all.

Just fun.

Dean gets out of bed, and immediately catches sight of the red tie and dark suit jacket crumpled on the floor, where Dean tossed them after undressing Cas last night. He tries to ignore them. He’s going to have to take them to the dry cleaner’s, considering how fancy Castiel’s clothes seem to be. He strips the sheets off the bed, his movements angry and quick, and doesn’t let himself focus on the way they smell. Deciding to do his laundry right here and now, he brings the sheets into the laundry room and dumps them into the washing machine.

He goes back to the bedroom, then, and gathers Cas’ clothes. The red silk tie is smooth against his skin as he stands in the middle of the room and grips it in his fingers. Dean swallows hard and quickly pushes the tie into the closet for now, but he can’t quite let go of the jacket.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters to himself, but keeps holding it. He smooths it down with one hand, marvelling at the fabric. Must have cost a fortune. He needs to give it back — but he doesn’t even have Cas’ address. It’s too late now to call him, Cas is probably already boarding the plane or flying high up in the air, and won’t be able to come back for it anyway.

Without thinking, Dean brings the jacket up and brushes his cheek against it. His eyes flutter closed and he heaves a long sigh, feeling utterly lost and alone.

What has he done?

***

Friday morning finds Dean in the kitchen, standing in front of the open fridge and looking at nothing in particular. Especially since there really isn’t a lot inside — just a small package of cheese, a few cans of beers, a half empty bottle of ketchup, some leftover pasta. Dean sniffs everything, makes a face, and closes the fridge. He doesn’t feel like eating, anyway.

Absentmindedly, he makes coffee, and then promptly forgets to drink it. He only realizes it’s gone cold while he’s been sitting motionless and staring out the window when his phone pings loudly and brings him out of his reverie. 

“Fuck,” he curses and glares at the full cup. He stands and upends it over the sink, watching the coffee disappear before he forces himself to reach for his phone. His brother’s name jumps at him from the small screen, and Dean’s stomach flops unpleasantly. Of course it’s Sam. No one else texts him anyway.

_I’m landing in Las Vegas at 8:30 tonight, sounds ok?_

Dean rubs his face, takes a breath, and checks the time. It’s just after noon; if he’s going to make it to the airport on time, he’ll have to leave around 6, which gives him just enough time to get everything ready. Or so he hopes.

He texts Sam back, _Baby’s already itching to get going_ , adds a smiley face, and gets a new cup of coffee. He makes a shopping list while he drinks, then gets dressed and leaves the house, leaving his phone on the kitchen table. He doesn’t need distractions, and he knows he’d end up staring at the screen every five minutes if he decided to take the phone with him to the store. 

He knows they’ll get home late and Sam will just probably want to go to bed immediately, so he plans a big breakfast for Saturday — eggs and bacon and hashbrowns and grilled tomatoes, because Sam needs his veggies — and makes sure he has everything he needs to make burgers for dinner. He also buys beer, then spends a ridiculous amount of time standing in front of a shelf full of tea boxes and trying to choose something Sam will like. He ends up buying three different kinds because he can’t decide.

Back in the car, with all the groceries packed safely in the backseat, he unconsciously reaches for his phone, then heaves a sigh when he remembers he doesn’t have it. The thought of Cas calling or texting him enters his mind even though he tries to fight it — which is why he decides it’s not safe to go back home just yet. He drives around town for the next hour, trying to think of something else to buy. Mindlessly, he enter a bookshop and buys a gift for Sam, just because he can — some new releases he hopes Sam is going to enjoy once he gets bored with Dean’s sorry ass. 

Ultimately, though, he needs to go back home. He unpacks his groceries and doesn’t check his phone. He still has over three hours till he has to leave, so he spends the next hour and a half cleaning like crazy. The skin on his fingers is pruned when he finishes with the bathtub, but he doesn’t think it’s ever been cleaner. 

Around five, Dean sits down in front of the TV and thoughtlessly browses Netflix. He adds a few movies that look interesting to the list, hoping he can watch them with Sam when he gets here. 

He decides to leave half an hour before he normally would, just because he simply can’t find anything else to do with his time. It wouldn’t be a problem if he was at work — but right now, he just can’t stand to sit still. 

Not if he wants to stay relatively sane.

He checks his phone on his way to the car, and tries to stifle his disappointment when he finds no new notifications. Shaking his head, he throws the phone onto the passenger seat and starts the Impala.

His phone pings half an hour later, and even though Dean _knows for sure_ it’s Sam, his heart still leaps eagerly in his chest. He glances at the dark screen as he drives and imagines how it would be if he was to discover Cas’ name on it. He gives himself a long minute to just think about it — he knows it can remain a possibility as long as he doesn’t actually check the phone. What would Cas say? Maybe he’d simply text _Hello, Dean._ Maybe he’d ask how Dean is holding up. Maybe he’d say, _I miss you_. Dean would stare at the screen and his fingers would shake a little as he’d compose the reply, _I fucking miss you too, you idiot_. Maybe then Cas would call him. Dean would take a deep breath and answer, eyes on the road, the hand not holding the phone gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles would turn white. Cas would greet him, his voice pitched low, as always, and Dean would ask, _Do you think we could see each other again some time_ , and maybe—

Dean’s phone chimes again. Dean stares at it, more curious than ever. Would Sam text him twice? Or is it someone else? Tired of second-guessing himself, Dean finally reaches for the phone. He sighs heavily when he notices the messages from Sam and Benny.

_Boarding the plane. See you soon!_

_Hey man, u up for a beer 2night?_

Smiling ruefully, Dean dials Benny’s number, relieved he’ll have something to do for the next few minutes.

***

“Wow,” Sam utters as he stumbles into the kitchen the next morning. “Dean, you didn’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Dean says. “I promised I’d cook. So I’m cooking. Grab your coffee and sit down, breakfast’s almost ready.”

Sam laughs but doesn’t protest, just plops down in front of the table and stretches. “Man, your couch sucks.”

“Fuck you,” Dean says. “I heard you snore from the other side of the house.”

“I’m not saying I didn’t sleep,” Sam says with a grin, “just that it wasn’t particularly comfortable.”

“Sorry I’m not a five star hotel. That couch is old.”

“Oh, I know it’s old. My _back_ knows it.”

Dean puts a plate full of eggs and bacon in front of Sam. “You’re welcome, jerk.”

Sam chuckles and digs in without another word. Dean watches him eat, then yawns into his coffee. He meant it when he said he heard Sam snore — mainly because he himself couldn’t sleep for hours, tossing and turning and thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking anymore. It seems ridiculous now, in broad daylight, but at night, he felt as if his entire body was aching from thoughts of Cas — Cas and his eyes and hands and touch and smell, Cas staring up at him right there, in Dean’s bed, Cas’ laugh and voice and his entire presence — and, worst of all, Dean’s absolute certainty he’s never, ever going to be with him like that again.

Dean realizes Sam is talking to him only when he waves a hand in front of his face.

“What?” he asks, blinking.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” Sam asks.

“Already ate,” Dean says with a shrug.

“And you think I’m going to eat all of this?” Sam asks, pointing at the mountain of food Dean prepared. He looks thoughtful.

Dean grins. “You’re a big man, Sammy. You need your calories.”

Sam doesn’t protest, and Dean spends the next few minutes simply watching him shovel more and more food into his mouth. They talk while they sip their coffee, and then move to the living room to watch television and talk some more. It’s only when Sam leaves for a moment to talk to someone on the phone that Dean realizes he finally stopped thinking so obsessively about everything that happened recently.

It only lasts five more minutes.

Sam returns from Dean’s room, his phone in his hand and a wide smile on his face. 

“Dude, I didn’t know you even had any ties, let alone red ones,” he says with a chuckle.

Dean freezes where he’s sitting on the couch. Sam notices and frowns. 

“What’s up?” he asks slowly. “Is something—”

Dean shakes his head. “Uh, nothing. It’s nothing. Let’s go back to the movie.”

“But Dean—”

“Really, Sam,” Dean grunts.

“What did I say?” Sam asks. “I swear I wasn’t mocking you. That is one nice tie, man. I dig it.”

Dean doesn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “It’s not mine.” 

He’s completely forgotten he left Castiel’s suit jacket and tie hanging in his bedroom, returned from the dry cleaners’ and mocking Dean whenever he catches sight of them. He has no idea what to do with it. He also doesn’t have the courage to hide it in the closet or get rid of it completely.

“Oh,” Sam says. “It’s isn’t? So whose— _Oh_.”

Dean glances at Sam, noticing the flush on his face as he realizes what Dean is — or isn’t — telling him. His brother clears his throat and frowns.

“Cas?” he asks.

Dean keeps his face straight — or he tries. “Mhmm-mmm,” he mutters.

“And it’s here because…”

“Because he forgot it when he was leaving,” Dean says matter-of-factly. 

“Are you going to send it to him?” Sam asks slowly.

Dean shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh. He’s coming over for it, then?”

“Definitely not,” Dean says.

“But he knows you’ve got it,” Sam muses.

“Of course he does,” Dean says.

“Because you called him and told him that?” 

Dean shoots Sam an annoyed look. “No, because _he’s not stupid_. He must know he left it here.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, but Dean refuses to look at him, fumbling with the remote instead. He curses himself for letting Sam see it — and at the same time, he yearns to finally have someone to talk to about it. It helps that Sam knows a lot already, and that he’s his brother and can read him better than anyone. But still, getting those words out feels like the hardest thing ever.

“Did you guys have a fight?” Sam asks finally.

Dean sighs and puts the remote back on the coffee table. Apparently, they’re not going back to the movie just yet. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“No,” he says. “He just left.”

“And you couldn’t give him his clothes back before he left?”

“He went straight to the airport,” Dean mutters.

He hears Sam’s loud intake of breath and knows Sam finally came to the logical conclusion. “You spent the last night here.”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“He stayed the night,” Sam says carefully, “didn’t he?”

“Yeah, so what?” Dean asks loudly. “And then he left his clothes here, the moron, and I’m not sending them back to him. Why should I?”

“Never mind the clothes,” Sam says. “You never have anyone over here, not if they’re not family.” When Dean doesn’t answer again, Sam heaves a loud sigh. “Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean stares at him. “What are you sorry for?”

Sam shrugs. “I just. I had no idea it was so serious. I mean, you did mention it was getting there, but—”

“It wasn’t,” Dean interrupts. “No. And even if… even if it was, it’s not anymore. He’s gone, he’s back in New York, and it’s done.” 

“Of course,” Sam says. Suddenly, he sounds exasperated. “You just let him go, right? And you haven’t called him since?”

“He hasn’t called me either,” Dean bites back. “Hasn’t texted. Nothing. We both know it’s over, there’s no point in trying anymore.”

“Did you talk about it?” Sam asks. “Before he left?”

Dean huffs. He stands up from the couch, looking around for something to occupy his thoughts with. Suddenly the fact that Sam is here and knows Dean so well doesn’t strike him as quite such a good idea. 

“Dean,” Sam urges.

“Whatever,” Dean grunts.

“You didn’t even talk,” Sam says tiredly. “Jesus Christ, and you said he wasn’t an idiot.”

Dean bites his lips. “He’s not. I am.”

He doesn’t wait for Sam’s answer. He flees to the kitchen, looks around frantically, then rushes towards the sink to wash the dishes. Of course, Sam follows him soon after.

“Shit, Dean, stop running away,” Sam complains.

“I’m not,” Dean says. “I should start on dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll help if you talk to me.”

“Gee, Sam, there’s nothing to say.” Dean sends Sam a pained look. “Want to hear the entire thing? Yeah, he came over here. I invited him. I told him to stay the night. And in the morning, he left for the airport. We didn’t talk about anything and we haven’t ever since, so I’m being reasonable and assuming it’s over. It was fun while it lasted, but now we’re done. Happy?”

Sam frowns. “Are you?”

“Fucking hell, Sam.” Dean throws a dishrag at his brother. “Shut up.”

And, miraculously — or because he knows him really well — Sam does shut up. They make dinner, busying themselves with small talk and stupid jokes, then eat it as they watch Netflix and drink beer.

Dean can’t stop repeating Sam’s question over and over in his head, though. He tries, very hard, to silence it with food and drink, and yet it’s still there, driving him mad, especially when he retires into his bedroom for the night, gaze landing on the damn jacket and red tie.

_Are you happy?_

Dean thinks he’s never been more miserable in his life.

***

“I told him it was fun,” Dean mumbles, eyes glued to the table.

Sam, who’s drinking beer when Dean speak up, almost chokes on it. He coughs loudly, eyes watering, and stares at Dean from where he’s sitting in the booth across from him.

“Say that again?” he asks, eyes wide. 

Dean glares. “I told him it was fun,” Dean says, louder this time. “What we had, I mean. Thanks, I said. It was fun. Bye.”

“What the hell, Dean.” Sam looks horrified.

It’s Sunday and they’re having dinner at the local burger joint this evening. Sam has his Monday off so he’s staying the night and leaving tomorrow, and they haven’t talked about The Thing since the day before — but Dean just can’t help it anymore. Beer helps, and he’s not all that surprised that the words finally starts spilling from him.

“I don’t know why I said that,” Dean says. “I could have said anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong — it _was_ fun. Lots and lots of fun.”

“No details, please,” Sam warns.

Dean ignores him. “It started out as fun,” he says. “No strings attached, you know. We kinda hated each other, but the sex was fucking amazing.”

“Dean,” Sam groans.

“‘M just saying.” Dean shrugs. “We had no real... guidelines or anything, we kinda just did whatever we felt like. So yeah, it was fun.”

“But that’s not all it was,” Sam adds.

Dean gulps his beer. “Of course it wasn’t.”

Sam stays quiet. Dean looks at him and makes a face. “Why am I like this, Sam? Why can’t I just enjoy things without getting all… you know?” 

“Why?” Sam rolls his eyes. “‘Cause you’re a person. You have feelings, whether you want to or not.”

“But people have casual sex all the time,” Dean groans. “Why can’t I?”

“You can,” Sam says carefully, “but maybe not with him.”

“If you could have seen his face, Sam,” Dean says. “When I told him that. He was… I dunno. I’m sure he’s fine, he’s not calling or texting or anything, so he must be fine, but when I said the F-word… I thought he was gonna cry or something.”

“How can you be so sure he’s fine?” Sam asks. “You don’t know that.”

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, just staring at the beer bottle in his hands and trying to blink back the wetness in his eyes. He might have had one beer too many because he’s getting emotional. He can feel Sam’s gaze on him, though, so he clears his throat and looks up again.

“I can’t,” he manages. “I need to think he’s fine, otherwise it’d kill me.”

“Dean—” Sam says, eyes wide.

“I’d rather he was fine and forgetting about me,” Dean says quietly, then points to his chest, “than feeling _like this_.”

Sam lets out a loud breath. “Holy shit.”

Dean doesn’t say anything; he can’t.

“Dean,” Sam says, voice all serious and high-strung. “I think you should talk to him.”

“What for?” Dean asks, wincing when he hears his own voice — small and unsure. “That wouldn’t change anything. It can’t work, Sam, even if he somehow felt the same way. I’m here, and he’s there. I’m a miner — he’s the fancy manager with fancy clothes and fancy friends and probably a fancy apartment. There are miles and miles between us. And before you say _long-distance_ — please don’t. I don’t want long-distance, okay?” Dean covers his eyes with his hand. “I want him.”

“People all around the world make it work,” Sam says gently. 

“Yeah, not me,” Dean mutters. “I know myself, Sam. It would never work for me. It would destroy me, sitting here, underground, and thinking of all the interesting things he gets to do every day, all the interesting people he meets. How could this work, Sam? We would talk on the phone, meet once a month, maybe less, and then he’d just get bored and move on, and I’d be still here, in this stupid town, working this stupid job, digging myself deeper and deeper into the ground and going nowhere.”

He risks a look at Sam when he says nothing — and discovers Sam’s eyes are hard and angry.

“Stop this, Dean,” he says. “Why are you talking like this?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m boring, Sam, let’s just admit it. I work and work and work, and if I don’t, I just stay at home and watch TV and eat frozen food. I’m thirty-two, for God’s sake, and I have nothing. No house of my own, no real interests, no _family with kids_. All I have is the job and the car.”

“Dean…”

“I’m good at sex, I’ll admit that,” Dean says with a dry laugh. “And I know Cas enjoyed what we had. But I can’t give him anything beyond that.”

“Did he tell you that?” Sam asks angrily.

“He didn’t have to,” Dean says. “He wanted me, true. But he didn’t _need_ me, not like I apparently need him.”

“Okay,” Sam says, voice harsh. “I’m going to say some things and you’re not going to like them, but fuck it. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Dean frowns. “The hell, Sam?”

Sam shakes his head. “Listen to me, Dean, and listen carefully. I don’t know this Cas. I’ve only talked to him once, and I have no way of knowing what kind of person he is, and you didn’t really give me all that much. All I have is your word — and the way you feel about him. And I know you, Dean… which means I know that Cas is _not_ a horrible person. You wouldn’t fall for him so hard if he was.”

“He’s not a horrible person,” Dean mutters.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Which is why I don’t believe he was just using you for fun. You said you never really talked about it, so you have no way of knowing, but if he’s even a little like what you say he is, he would never do that to you. It’s just not possible.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says. “Maybe he felt something too. But it’s too late now.”

“Why?” Sam asks. “Because you live far apart? Dean, you moved here only a few months ago; what’s stopping you from moving again? You said you hated this town.”

“I’ve never said—”

“I know you, Dean,” Sam repeats. “You’re not enjoying this, not really.”

“It’s closer to California from here,” Dean explains. “I am enjoying _that_.”

“Because we take such advantage of that,” Sam says and rolls his eyes. “We saw each other more often back when you lived in Colorado.”

“And whose fault is that?” Dean shoots.

Sam ignores him. “Dean. Mining is not as common as it used to be, but fucking hell, it still exists outside of Nevada,” Sam says. “And I know for a fact that there aremines closer to New York.”

“I’m not gonna move just because of Cas,” Dean protests. “I’m not that needy.”

“I’m not saying you should move immediately. But you could consider it before cutting him out of your life completely.”

Dean doesn’t answer, focusing on drinking his beer instead. He’s not sure what to say — especially since he knows he’s thought about it himself, too, when he was brave enough to admit he wasn’t ready to let Cas go. 

Sam isn’t done, though.

“Or,” he says, voice slower and gentler now, “you could also quit.”

Dean looks up at him. “Excuse me?”

Sam raises a hand, as if trying to calm Dean down, even before Dean has a chance to get annoyed. 

“Just let me finish,” Sam says. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but please, just— let me say what I think.”

Dean gulps, nods curtly, and doesn’t say anything. Sam smiles softly.

“Dean, you know what I remember the most from when we were kids? I remember how you _hated_ that Dad worked in a mine. I was younger and I think I didn’t care all that much, not back then, but you? You fretted like crazy. You were ten and you would worry every single day when Dad went to work. You played with me, tried to stay occupied, but I could see you worry. And, every night Dad came back, you would visibly _deflate_ — just from being so relieved Dad was back safely.”

Dean shakes his head. “All kids are like that sometimes.”

“No, they’re not,” Sam says gently. “Anyway, do you know when you stopped being so worried? When Dad finally let you go with him. It was like you thought you could protect him from everything, even back when you were still a kid.”

“I wasn’t a kid. I was fifteen when he let me—”

“Fifteen,” Sam repeats. “Exactly.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Dean can feel Sam’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look back, too busy digesting his words. He’s not sure what to think — but deep inside, he _feels_ Sam is probably right. About everything.

“And then the accident happened,” Sam says finally. 

Dean closes his eyes. “Stop, Sam.”

“You said so yourself,” Sam says. “Mining is dangerous as hell. Accidents happen. Everyone knows that. It wasn’t anyone’s fault — let alone your fault.”

“I don’t think it was my fault,” Dean grumbles.

“Don’t you?” Sam quiets down again, lets his words sink in. “Why are you a miner, Dean?”

“Because I can’t do anything else,” Dean says woodenly.

“Bullshit,” Sam say. “I watched you play with cars since you were a kid. I watched you build _amazing stuff_ with just a few sticks and a hammer. I still marvel at everything you cook — I’ve never eaten anything better than what you make, Dean. You have so many talents, Dean, and you don’t even realize it.”

“Those are not talents—”

“Yes, they are,” Sam says. “I’m not saying go to college. I’m not saying become a doctor or a teacher or anything like that. I’m saying… maybe consider the fact that you don’t _have to be_ a miner just because Dad was. You deserve more.”

“Sam, I can’t,” Dean says quietly. “He wanted this. He taught me all he knew, he was always so happy when I worked with him. I think he was proud of me.”

Sam curses under his breath. “He was, Dean,” he says, voice a little unsteady. Dean feels his eyes prickle, but he refuses to look up. “As he fucking should be. But he was also really blind, and I will never forgive him for making you doubt yourself like that.”

“Sam,” Dean groans. “Don’t say stuff like that. Not about him.”

“I just want you to realize that Dad is gone,” Sam says. “I am sorry, Dean. I really am. But Dad is gone, and you shouldn’t feel obligated to do everything just because he wanted you to.”

“It’s the family business, Sam—”

“Fuck that,” Sam says, but there’s no real heat in his voice. “I’m not saying drop everything right now. I’m saying consider it.”

Dean looks up and is shocked to discover Sam’s eyes are glistening. 

“I get it now, you know?” Sam asks, smiling gently. “I get why you worried so much when Dad worked underground.”

Dean takes a deep breath and, looking Sam in the eye, nods slowly.

He thinks he gets it, too.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel stares out the window of his office, watching the busy streets below him and wondering if he should just go home now, two hours early. It’s not like he’s getting any work done anyway.

It’s been a month since he left Nevada, and though he’s well-used to travelling for work, he’s never felt this itch to return to a particular place before. Every time he hears someone mention that contract, a flood of memories comes crashing through his mind: the first time he saw Dean, the first time they kissed, all those filthy-sweet messages they exchanged… and then, Dean’s voice, telling him it was _fun_.

He’s being overly sentimental, Castiel knows. Clearly, he was far more invested in whatever they were doing-- having _fun_ \-- than Dean was. He doubts Dean is standing around, thinking about him. Missing him. Wanting him nearby. 

If only he had a distraction. Well, there’s this meeting with Zachariah and Naomi tomorrow. The one that will decide whether or not he receives the promotion they’ve been dangling over his head since before he left for Nevada. He could fret over that instead, but he can barely bring himself to care. Their decision is already made by now, he assumes. He just has to wait until they announce it to him.

There’s a light knock on his door, and he spins around in his chair to see Balthazar standing there, lips pursed and hand on hip. “You look terrible,” he informs Castiel. 

“Thank you,” Castiel replies. “Is that in any way relevant to whatever you have in your hand?” He nods towards the file folder Balthazar is clutching in his free hand.

“Not really, no.” Balthazar enters the office and sets the file down on Castiel’s desk, then drops into the chair on the other side, lounging against the arm with studied ease. “It’s my notes from the meeting earlier this afternoon. You said you wanted to go over them today?”

Did he? Castiel can barely remember. He rubs his eyes and opens the file, but none of the contents make any sense to him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” There’s genuine concern in Balthazar’s voice. “Worried about the meeting tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, grateful to have that as an excuse for his lack of attention. “I was just thinking about leaving for the day, actually. It’s stressful, sitting around here waiting for something that won’t happen until the morning.”

“Take the file with you,” Balthazar advises. “Read it over in the bath with a large glass of wine, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow, after your future is decided.”

“You make it sound so dramatic,” Castiel mutters. “It’s not like I’ll be kicked out onto the street if they choose Bartholomew over me.”

“No,” Balthazar agrees, “but still, it’s an important meeting. You’re allowed to be concerned, Cas. Go home.”

“If you insist.” Castiel gets to his feet and stretches, sliding the file into his briefcase and picking up his jacket from the back of his chair. As his fingers slide over the smooth fabric, he thinks of the jacket he left behind on Dean’s floor that last night. He could call Dean, using that as an excuse. Pretend he needs it for some upcoming function, ask him to have it sent over. Ask him how he’s doing. If he’s found someone else. If the changes Castiel and his team suggested have been implemented, if they’re proving helpful.

But no. He’s resisted contacting Dean for this long. He won’t break now.

“Call me if you need anything,” Balthazar says, clapping him lightly on the back as they leave the office, Castiel locking the door behind him. “See you in the morning.”

Castiel waves to the other members of his team as he passes their desks and takes the long way around to the elevator to avoid running into Zachariah. As the floors tick down, he considers his options, not quite ready to go back to his too-quiet apartment just yet.

Fortunately, he keeps a duffel bag in the the trunk of his car for just these moments. It’s only a short drive to the gym he frequents, and he’s ahead of the post-work crowd, so the locker room is quieter than usual. He strips off his suit and changes into his swimming trunks, then grabs a towel and heads for the pool.

He acknowledges the other swimmers with a nod, recognizing most of them from other visits. The water is cool and welcoming as he slides in with ease and lets muscle memory take over. 

As always, swimming helps to empty his mind. He focuses on the feeling of the water rushing past him, the steady pull of his muscles, keeping count of the number of laps he’s completed. It’s not until he pauses at the far end of the pool, balanced against the concrete edge, that he takes a shuddering breath, remembering.

He and Dean, chasing each other around the pool like giggling children, splashing each other at every turn. Water running down Dean’s face, tracking the curve of his cheekbones, hanging in the dip of his lips. Dean backing him against the side of the pool, the heat in his eyes as their bodies came into contact below the water.

“Fuck,” Castiel mutters under his breath. He can’t escape Dean, not even here, his usual sanctuary. And it makes him angry--no, _furious_. How dare Dean occupy so much space in his head? They only knew each other for six weeks. Hated each other for the first one. And then spent the last five having mind-melting, earth-scorching sex, interspersed with moments of what Castiel thought was genuine connection.

But to Dean, it was nothing more than _fun_.

Well, Castiel doesn’t have time for fun anymore. If he’s been reading his supervisors’ behavior correctly since his return from Nevada, he’s going to get a promotion tomorrow, one he’s been working towards for years. He needs to be focused, on point. Both mind and body sharp and ready.

He swims until his arms are shaking, and only then does he pull himself out of the pool and back to the locker room for a shower. It’s busier now, and Castiel politely dodges a number of others as he maneuvers around the space. As he’s pulling a clean t-shirt over his head, he feels a pair of eyes on his back, and turns around to see a man, perhaps a few years younger than himself, blush and hastily turn his gaze away.

Castiel offers him a slight smile, no invitation in it but also no recrimination, and the man looks back and smiles in return. He’s handsome enough, small-built with bright red hair and tattoos all up the length of one arm. And it’s nice to be admired once in a while.

But Castiel still turns away, finishes putting on his clothes, and leaves without another glance back at him. 

***

Balthazar is waiting for him in the lobby of their office tower at eight o’clock the next morning, holding a cup of coffee and a small paper bag that likely contains one of Castiel’s favourite blueberry scones. He ignores the tempting scent and reaches only for the coffee, bringing the cup to his mouth with a brief murmur of thanks to Balthazar.

“Ready?” he asks as he escorts Castiel towards the elevators. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Castiel replies. He has half an hour before the meeting, and he hopes he can make the coffee last that long, just to give him something to do until then.

“You know we’re all rooting for you,” Balthazar says, unusually serious. “You deserve this, Cas.”

“Don’t say that yet,” Castiel mutters. 

“Well, it’ll be drinks tonight either way, either in celebration or in commiseration,” Balthazar says as they step off the elevator. “See you on the other side!”

Meg and Hannah also pop in to wish him luck, and Castiel is grateful for their support, but he almost wishes he could have a few minutes just to breathe. All too quickly, it’s 8:27, and he rises from his desk, straightens his tie around his neck, and crosses the floor to Zachariah’s office.

“Good morning, Mr. Adler,” he says, voice polite and composed.

“Castiel, come in!” Zachariah is as falsely welcoming as ever, which doesn’t give Castiel any indication of how this meeting is going to go. Raphael is already waiting at the side of the desk, and he gives Castiel a cool nod as he enters. No hints there, either. 

“We won’t beat around the bush,” Zachariah says as he settles into his chair, “we all know why we’re here.”

“Indeed,” Castiel comments. He keeps his arms resting casually on the sides of his chair, but can’t stop his fingers from clenching and unclenching. He hopes the others don’t notice.

“I’ll be brief: Mr. Novak, we’d like to offer you a position as a partner,” Raphael says. 

Castiel closes his eyes tightly for a second, then opens them again. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m honoured. And I accept.”

“Excellent!” Zachariah says jovially. “Great work, Novak. Always knew you had potential.”

“Thank you, sir,” Castiel replies. “Thank you for seeing that potential, and for nurturing it all these years.”

It’s utter bullshit, of course. Zachariah doesn’t have a nurturing bone in his body. But it’s what Castiel is expected to say, and judging by the grin on Zachariah’s face, his words are taken at face value.

“We have the paperwork here,” Raphael says. It’s almost amusing, how cool he is in comparison with Zachariah’s overly animated enthusiasm. But Castiel supposes that’s why they work well together. As he signs the papers that Raphael passes over to him, he wonders where he will fit into this equation. 

After another round of congratulations and handshakes, Castiel leaves the office. He’s not at all surprised to find Meg hovering outside, clearly waiting for him.

“Well?” she demands, eyes alight with anticipation.

“I got it,” he says, a relieved laugh escaping his lips. “I got it!”

Meg grins at him in delight and throws her arms around him. “I knew you would,” she tells him. “I already made us a reservation at Bar Noir tonight.”

“That was very forward of you,” Castiel teases.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “We all knew this was coming.”

It’s heart-warming, the support and steadfast loyalty of his team. But it sends a pang through his heart as Castiel realizes this promotion means he won’t be working with them as closely anymore. He’ll see them, of course, but they’ll still be traveling a great deal of the time, and he’ll be overseeing things from here.

He brushes aside his dark thoughts and gives Meg a quick smile. “I have to go down to HR,” he says. “Forms to fill out, papers to sign. Boring stuff.”

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Like you aren’t incredibly excited about all of this. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” Castiel echoes softly. Then he steps into the elevator and pushes the button for the 5th floor, which houses the Human Resources department. Once the doors close, he exhales shakily and lets his head fall back against the mirrored walls. 

He did it. Everything he’s been working for, all these years. From lowly intern to partner. It’s exactly the kind of inspirational story they tell to fresh new graduates, eyes shining with hope and passion. 

So why does it leave him feeling so empty?

The rest of the day passes in a flurry of paperwork and logistical decisions: what will be brought from his current office into his new one, what will stay behind, when his official duties will actually begin. By the time 4:30 rolls around, Castiel is exhausted both physically and mentally, but he can’t let his friends down. This might be his last chance to truly feel like part of their team.

He’s grateful for the familiar surroundings and cozy atmosphere of the bar, at least. They’re led to a booth at the back of the room that keeps them away from the rest of the crowd, mostly other young professionals such as themselves sharing some drinks and light snacks to celebrate the end of another week. 

As soon as they’re settled in and their first round of drinks has arrived, Balthazar raises his glass, pink cocktail umbrella on proud display, and beams at Castiel across the table. 

“Here’s to Castiel,” he begins, but because it’s Balthazar, it cannot be as simple and direct as that. “Our fearless leader through so many difficult projects. Our friend through so many late nights and early mornings. Our most dear companion, who soon enough we’ll all be whispering about behind his back, wishing power didn’t take such a toll.”

Meg and Hannah laugh, though Hannah pushes at Balthazar and raises her own glass to continue. “I’m sure that won’t be the case,” she says, giving Balthazar a stern look. “Castiel, we’re so proud of you. Congratulations on making partner.”

They all take the first sips of their drinks, and while his Old Fashioned is as delicious as ever, there’s something bittersweet about it that isn’t just due to the taste. He doesn’t want to be someone his former team whispers about behind his back. He doesn’t want this promotion to change him. He doesn’t think it will, but what if it does?

“What are you brooding about?” Meg asks, giving him a curious look from over the top of her martini glass. “Smile, Castiel. We’re celebrating, remember?”

“I know,” he says, then repeats it with a bit more enthusiasm. “I know. I’m just-- I’ll miss working with you. All of you.”

Hannah gives him a sympathetic look and even Meg’s eyes soften slightly, but Balthazar just scoffs and throws his olive at Castiel. Fortunately, it misses, bouncing off the seat beside him and rolling away under the table.

“Please,” Balthazar says. “We won’t miss you.”

“What?” Castiel says, half-startled and half-laughing. “Not even a bit?”

“Not one bit,” Balthazar insists. “Meg defaults to team lead, as per seniority. I’m sure Hannah will be happy to move into her old position, I’ll switch over to being Meg’s assistant, and we’ll find someone new and shiny to be Hannah’s. We’ve got this all worked out, you see.”

“You don’t want the power for yourself?” Castiel teases.

“Not at all,” Balthazar shudders. “Power corrupts, my dear. And as you yourself have said on numerous occasions, I am an _excellent_ assistant.”

“Cheers,” Hannah says, clinking her glass lightly against his. “To excellent assistants.”

“And to even better friends,” Castiel says softly.

The night passes with the conversation and the alcohol both flowing freely. As it goes on, Castiel’s doubts begin to fade away-- even if they won’t be working together as closely as they have in the past, he doesn’t think he will lose the companionship of these people. He won’t let himself. 

At 10:30, Hannah calls it a night, always the most responsible of them. Castiel sees her safely into a cab with a fond embrace and a request to text him when she gets home, then returns inside the bar. Meg is alone at the table, and in answer to his raised eyebrow, she just sighs and gestures towards the bar, where Balthazar is observing one of the bartenders preparing some elaborate drink. His interest is clearly directed more at the person making the drink than at the drink itself, and Meg and Castiel share a knowing smirk as they watch Balthazar work his charms.

“Some things never change,” Castiel murmurs.

“And others do,” Meg shoots back. She wraps a curl of dark hair around one finger, gaze frank. “Congratulations, Castiel. Really.”

“Thank you, Meg.” He salutes her with his glass.

“So tell me, why do you still look like somebody ran over your cat?” she asks.

Castiel almost chokes on his drink. “I don’t have a cat,” he says, unsure how else to respond. “We travel too much.”

“Well, you can get one now, you’ll be working out of the office much more,” she says brusquely. “Point remains. Every time you think we’re not looking, you get this look on your face, like you’re absolutely miserable. What’s going on?” Her tone softens on the last words, and it’s the genuine caring he can hear in them that prompts Castiel to take a deep breath and confess the thing he hasn’t even dared admit to himself.

“I wish Dean was here,” he says quietly. 

Meg frowns at him, clearly caught off-guard by his answer. “Dean? From the mine?”

“Yes.” Castiel picks up his glass and drains the last of the drink. Their server, always attentive, comes over immediately and asks if he wants another, and Castiel nods. 

It only takes Meg a few more seconds to put the pieces together. “You were getting dirty with one of the mine guys?” she hisses. He can’t tell if she’s shocked or delighted or some combination of the two.

“If you must phrase it that way, yes.”

She grins at him and props both elbows on the table. “Tell me everything.”

So he does. He tells her how it began with that kiss at the welcome picnic, how it turned into more, how they snuck around on the site and how comfortable Dean got in the king-sized bed in Castiel’s hotel room. Her eyes widen as he recounts the fact that they left the last party together, and when he finally finishes talking, she sits back with a whistle.

“I can’t believe I never noticed anything was going on,” she says. “To be fair, I was engaged in some rather distracting cooperative work myself….”

Castiel frowns at her for a moment, and then realization sinks in. “What?” he says, his mouth dropping open. 

Meg just smirks, twirling her martini glass in her hand. “I guess we’re both pretty good at sneaking around,” she laughs.

“With who?” Castiel demands.

“Abby and Amara,” Meg answers, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Now that she’s said it, it seems so obvious. A number of interactions flash through Castiel’s mind, and he can’t believe he never figured it out until just now. Maybe he would have, if he hadn’t been so busy staring at Dean most of the time.

“But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” Meg continues, as though she hasn’t just revealed something completely shocking to him. “So you guys were hooking up. Then what?”

“Then nothing,” Castiel mutters. “I left.”

“Okay, but… what, have you been sending him artful nudes since you left? Or sappy voicemails?” Meg shudders at the last statement, as though she can’t even imagine doing such a thing.

“No,” Castiel sighs. “It’s over. It was what it was, and now it’s over.”

“That’s clearly not the case,” Meg says bluntly. “If it was so over, you wouldn’t be drunkenly admitting that you wished he was here, helping you celebrate the biggest accomplishment of your career to date.”

He brushes aside her words. “Okay, so it’s not over for me, emotionally. But it should be. Because emotion was never supposed to be part of the deal.”

“Did you decide that, or did he?”

Castiel starts to answer, then stops himself. “Well, the term _friends-with-benefits_ was tossed around at one point…”

“And then you had to go and fall for him,” Meg concludes. She gives him a pitying look. “But, Cas, Dean seemed like a total teddy bear beneath that rough and tumble exterior. You’re trying to tell me he didn’t get carried away too?”

“There were times I thought he did,” Castiel admits. “Times when I got my hopes up. I really thought--”

“What happened?” Meg asks sympathetically. “Was he seeing someone else?”

“What? No.” Castiel shakes his head. “At least, not that I’m aware of.” 

“Then what?”

“He told me it was _fun_ ,” he says quietly. “The last morning, when I was getting ready to leave. That’s all it was to him. _Fun_.”

“Ouch,” Meg murmurs. She reaches out and squeezes Castiel’s arm lightly. “That sucks. It really does. I mean, fun is fine and all, as long as everyone is in agreement about that being all it is.”

“Is that what it was for you and Abby and Amara?” he asks.

“Definitely,” she says with a lewd wink, but then grows serious once more. “Yeah, we talked about it pretty much right away. Those two are solid together, and they like to invite other people along for the ride on a temporary basis, but they were completely upfront about it just being a casual thing. And that worked perfectly for me, since I knew I wasn’t going to be there for long anyway.”

“And you could just--- stop yourself from falling further?” Castiel finds that difficult to even wrap his head around. 

She shrugs. “I guess? But we didn’t spend nearly as much time together as you and Dean did, from the sound of things. And they never drove me out to their favourite spot in the desert to look at the stars, that’s for sure.”

“I wish I had your self-control,” he says with a bitter laugh. “It would have made things a lot easier.”

“Maybe,” Meg replies. “But don’t ever get down on yourself for caring too much, Castiel. It’s one of your best qualities. And if Dean couldn’t see and appreciate those qualities… well, that’s his loss.”

“Maybe,” Castiel says. “But it’s mine too.”

They each take a contemplative sip of their drinks, and Meg nods towards his phone, sitting on the table between them. “If you’re going to call him, at least you’ve got the excuse of a night out drinking to do it now,” she points out.

It’s a tempting thought. But Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “It’s done. It’s been too long now, anyway. The moment has passed.”

“Alright,” Meg says lightly, though her eyes are concerned. “Are we getting a cab, or are we going to see if Balthazar and his latest conquest want additional company?”

He laughs and looks back over towards the bar, where the bartender has given up all pretense of working in favour of leaning directly into Balthazar’s space, heads pressed close together. “I think we ought to leave them to their own devices,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

The night air is refreshing after the warmth of the bar, and Meg huddles closely against his side as he flags down a cab for them to share. Just before she gets out in front of her building, she presses her hand against his and says, “You’re going to be alright, Cas.” 

But later, when he’s standing in his bedroom and pulling his tie from around his neck, remembering another night and another tie tossed aside, he finds that difficult to believe.

***

“Castiel, they’re asking for you in the conference room.” His new assistant hovers in the doorway, not meeting his eyes.

“Hmn?” Castiel says distractedly, barely looking up from his computer screen. He needs to finish reviewing this report in the next ten minutes, and...

“In the conference room? Zachariah and Raphael and Naomi are looking for you.” 

Castiel frowns. No, that meeting isn’t supposed to take place until-- “Shit,” he swears under his breath. “Apologies, Muriel. I’ll be right there.”

He stands in a rush, almost knocking over the cup of coffee that has long gone cold sitting on his desk. “Where the hell did I put that file--”

A pair of hands hold out a bulging folder towards him. “This one?” Muriel asks, and her usual deference finally gives way to a hint of wryness in her voice.

“Yes,” he sighs. “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome,” she tells him. “Now go. They don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Castiel adjusts his tie as he hurries down the hall. Since making partner three weeks ago, it feels like all he’s done has been attend meetings with his colleagues, who never fail to make it clear to him that he’s still the most junior of them all. Coming into the conference room just on time while they all wait for his arrival doesn’t help him feel like less of an outsider.

But technically, he isn’t late. So he has nothing to apologize for. “Good afternoon,” he says, as casually as he can manage, sliding into his usual seat. 

There’s a chorus of murmured greetings from around the table. “Now that we’re all here,” Zachariah says, not even bothering to hide the look of disdain he gives Castiel, “let’s get down to it.”

Castiel’s cheeks heat at being called out for his near-lateness, but he keeps his head held high. “I saw that you wished to discuss the Spring Mountains Mining Corporation contract. Since I personally worked on the project, I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”

“Well,” Naomi says, pushing some papers around on the table in front of her. “It’s--”

“Something went wrong,” Raphael interrupts. “There was an accident at the mine.”

An icy chill descends Castiel’s spine. “An accident?” he repeats. Visions of horrific injuries swim behind his eyelids. What if it was someone he knew, someone he’d worked with--

What if it was Dean?

“Are they--” he can’t even bring himself to finish the question. 

“Relax, Castiel, no one’s dead,” Zachariah says brusquely. “It’s not that big of a headache for us.”

Across the table, Castiel sees Naomi’s lips tighten, and he’s glad he isn’t the only one shocked by Zachariah’s callousness. “That wasn’t my concern,” he says coldly. “You forget, I worked with the employees there quite closely for six weeks.”

“Of course,” Naomi replies. “The worker involved--” she consults her papers for a moment. “Max Banes. Did you know him?”

A wave of relief crashes through Castiel, immediately followed by one of self-loathing. How could he feel relief at the knowledge of Max’s injury? _But it’s not Dean_ , his traitorous brain whispers. _At least it’s not Dean_.

“Not well,” he answers. “But I’m...distressed to hear of this, regardless. And to only hear of it now.” He looks around the table at his supposed equals, nothing Raphael’s cool indifference, Naomi’s look of guilt, and Zachariah’s smirk.

“Your name was left off the memo,” Raphael says smoothly. “A regrettable oversight, but understandable, in this time of transition.”

“Of course.” Castiel smiles tightly at him. “Well. Now that I’m all caught up-- what are we going to do about this?”

“Apologies have been made, flowers have been sent, all those polite courtesies,” Raphael says. “Public image shouldn’t be heavily impacted. There will be an investigation, of course, but accidents do happen. No one is screaming blame at us for suggesting the change in machinery.”

“I mean what are we doing to make sure this doesn’t happen again!” The words are harsher than he intended, but Castiel doesn’t regret them, or the way he spoke them. 

Raphael raises an eyebrow at his response, but answers steadily enough. “A representative from the company will be arriving tomorrow to discuss the incident with us,” he says. “Perhaps a few of them. We’ll review all the necessary documents then. For now, we need to ensure we present a united front at those meetings.”

It’s a warning, clear as can be. Castiel swallows back his anger and inclines his head in a gesture that could be read as capitulation, but isn’t. “Of course,” he murmurs. 

He barely pays attention to the rest of the discussion, wondering how exactly the accident happened, who was there at the time, how it affected the workers. He makes a mental note to share the news with his old team-- considering that he was conveniently left off the memo about it, he doubts anyone outside this room has heard about it yet. They’ll send something of their own, he decides. 

“Castiel, a word,” Zachariah calls out the session comes to an end. Naomi gives him a look of something Castiel can’t decipher-- pity? solidarity?-- but she leaves the room without comment, Raphael following behind her. 

“Yes?” Castiel says.

Zachariah exhales loudly and steeples his fingers together, resting his chin on his joined hands. “Don’t disappoint us tomorrow, Castiel,” he says. “It’s a difficult business, this one. Sometimes, the things we suggest don’t work out. Sometimes, we can’t fix things for people.”

“In terms of profits, yes, I understand,” Castiel replies. “But we’re talking about basic safety here, not the bottom line.”

“It was an accident,” Zachariah says, looking supremely unbothered by the idea of such a trivial thing as _safety_. “And you’d do well to remember that.”

He gathers his papers and exits the room without another word, leaving Castiel staring after him in dismay. It’s true that he himself has taken a somewhat casual attitude towards accidents before, specifically his own close encounter with the drill, but he likes to think he’s learned a great deal since then. If this is the company line-- _accidents happen_ \-- one thing is certain: Castiel certainly won’t be part of any united front they wish to present.

As soon as he’s done for the day, he sends a text to his old team, who are currently in Boston on another project, informing them of the accident. Their immediate flurry of concern is a balm to him after the non-reaction of the partners. He’s about to put his phone away and head home when he sees Dean’s name flash by on his contact list.

Would it be ill-advised to send him a message, expressing his regret over what happened? Dean and Max are friends. And after what Dean told him about the accident that killed his father-- well, he must be taking this hard.

Castiel’s fingers hover over the screen, indecisive. Would Dean even want to hear his sympathies? Especially after so much silence between them? He doesn’t imagine so. With a sigh, he puts his phone back in his pocket and turns off the lights in his office. The card and gift he and the rest of the team are sending will have to convey his regrets for him. Max ought to be more receptive to them than Dean would.

He arrives at the office the next morning, trepidation making his walk from the elevators to the conference room seem twice as long. He made sure to be early, this time. If Zachariah is so concerned about presenting a united front, Castiel won’t give him the chance to make any snide remarks. Naomi is already there, and she gives Castiel a nod that’s perhaps a degree or two warmer than her standard. It’s surprising, how much that bolsters him.

Raphael enters a few moments later, and then Castiel sees Zachariah’s familiar outline through the frosted glass door, headed in their direction. He sits up straighter in his seat, taking a deep breath.

The first person Zachariah ushers through the door is no surprise. Crowley, dressed in his usual black, raises an eyebrow at the sight of Castiel sitting there with the other partners, but shakes his hand with his usual polite detachment as Zachariah makes the necessary introductions.

“And also joining us today, representing the workers of Spring Mountains Mining Corporation, Mr. Dean Winchester,” Zachariah adds.

Castiel’s heart leaps into his throat, and his hands clench painfully tight around the arms of his chair. Surely, it’s too cruel. But then Dean comes striding through the door, in a fitted navy-pinstripe suit that clings perfectly to the lines of his body, and he’s here, he’s really here…

And he’s looking at Castiel like he’s a stranger.

Castiel swallows his disappointment. What did he expect, that he and Dean would fall into each other’s arms like at the end of some tawdry Harlequin romance? 

Dean approaches, and there’s something that looks like pleading in his eyes. Pleading with Castiel to remain professional? Castiel extends his hand for Dean to shake, and even that brief moment of contact sends a jolt of pure electricity through his entire body.

“Good to see you again, Dean,” he manages.

“And you, Mr. Novak,” Dean replies. “Congratulations on the promotion.”

There are so many things Castiel wants to say. _How are you? How’s Max? You look well. Did you know I would be here?_

But also, _I’m glad to know it was just fun for you. Did you consider my feelings at all? And now you show up here, looking unfairly good in that suit, and expect me to remain professional?_

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Raphael says, saving Castiel from having to bite back any further comments to Dean. 

“First of all, how is Max doing?” Castiel cuts in before Zachariah can launch into some long-winded speech. He catches the look of surprise on Dean’s face, but it’s Crowley who answers.

“Well enough,” he says. “He’s in good spirits, receiving the best care, and likely to make a full recovery.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Castiel murmurs. He sneaks a glance across the table at Dean, who is studiously avoiding his eyes. It hurts more than it should.

“Yes, very glad,” Zachariah interrupts. He shoots a glare at Castiel, who stares back at him, unflinching. He wondered, when he took this promotion, what his place would be among the partners. And now he knows: it’s to be the only one with some sort of conscience.

“I assume you’ve all read the incident reports,” Crowley says. “Mr. Banes was following standard operating procedure, wearing standard safety gear. There’s no reason this should have happened.”

“We agree,” Raphael says. “The report mentioned a possible flaw in the machine itself, which I believe is still being investigated?”

“Yeah, and it never should have been brought in if it wasn’t ready to be used,” Dean interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. “Brought in on your recommendation, I might add.”

Castiel squirms in his seat. Dean makes a fair point. All the new machinery was researched well in advance, of course, but it was very new technology. The chances of some previously-undiscovered issues are always higher with brand new devices. 

“Obviously, the manufacturers of the machines have been made aware of the incident,” Naomi says. “They’ve halted production on the drill and are having it recalled.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Dean’s voice is tight. “Someone could have _died_.”

“And we’re all well-aware of that, Mr. Winchester,” Zachariah says. He’s looking at Dean with disdain, and it sends a surge of anger through Castiel. How dare he look down his nose at Dean? Dean is the one with the most direct experience with the machinery used at the site. That makes him the expert, and Zachariah ought to show him some respect.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Dean asks. Finally, he looks at Castiel. “You know how hard our teams work, Mr. Novak. You know how careful we are. I’m aware accidents happen--” a brief flash of pain crosses his features--“but I want to know how we’re going to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The resulting discussion is lively, heated, and seems to go on forever. Zachariah insists that the fault lies with the manufacturer of the drill, Raphael seems convinced that their teams could stand to conduct further research before making recommendations for new technology, and Naomi offers tired platitudes but seems unwilling to address any real solutions. Castiel can see Dean growing more and more frustrated as the conversation draws on, though he does give Castiel grateful looks every time he pushes the other partners to make any sort of firm commitment. 

Eventually, they come to a partial understanding. Liberty will review all existing contracts that are dealing with the manufacturer of the faulty drill, and look into new research strategies to ensure higher quality standards in the future. The nitty-gritty financial details will be left for another session to be held the next afternoon.

Crowley nods, a pleased smile hovering around his lips. He seems to have enjoyed the negotiations. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says as he signs off on the paperwork.

Zachariah grimaces, barely managing to disguise it as a smile. “And with you,” he says as he adds his signature to the document. “Now, you must be hungry.” He leads Crowley away in search of a meal, and Raphael and Naomi follow after him, leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the room.

Dean traces patterns on the top of the table, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. “Thanks for having my back there,” he says eventually. “Man, that Zachariah guy is a dick. I get why you hung up on him now. You sure you want to be working with him all the time?”

Whatever sympathy Castiel felt for Dean vanishes in that instant. How dare he show up here and presume to know anything about Castiel or what he wants? 

“I’m sure,” he says.

Dean looks up, an expression of surprise on his face. He must have caught the coldness in Castiel’s tone. “Wanna go grab some lunch?” he asks tentatively. “You can tell me all about the glamorous corner office life.”

_Yes_ , Castiel wants to shout. He wants to spend time with Dean, wants to watch his eyes crinkle as he laughs about something or other, wants to hear the passion in his voice as he talks about something he enjoys, wants to reach out and smooth the nervousness out of the set of his shoulders. 

But no. Fate might have brought them together again unexpectedly, but it isn’t some sign from the universe that they deserve a second chance. Dean threw away any chance of something real between them with his parting words to Castiel.

So he draws himself up, gathers his papers, and gives a brief shake of his head. “No, thank you,” he says, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Glamorous it may be, but the corner office life, as you so charmingly put it, doesn’t leave a lot of room for _fun_.”

And then, head held high, he leaves Dean behind him. 


	15. Chapter 15

Dean hears about Max’s accident when he’s deep in one of the tunnels with Benny and Victor. Cesar gathers them all above ground and they all leave for the hospital, where Max has already been transferred. They don’t get to see him at once, but they meet Max’s sister, Alicia, and soon hear Max’s life is not in danger. 

Only then does Dean let himself breathe out in relief and collapse in one of the plush armchairs in the hospital waiting room. He spends the next few hours in a daze, unsure what to do with himself, the only thing in his mind being the thought that Max Banes could have died underground if it wasn’t for a sheer stroke of luck.

He could have died.

Some time later, they learn more about the accident and about the malfunction of one of the machines. Dean listens to Cesar and Crowley talk about it in detail, but doesn’t have anything to say — in contrast to the rest of his teammates. When Cesar finally asks his opinion, Dean just shakes his head and doesn’t comment.

He’s conflicted. He agrees with some of the opinions voiced — _Of course it’s the machines! We should’ve predicted that!_ — but he also knows, from experience, that sometimes, accidents _just happen_. Especially in their line of work.

His weird calmness about the whole thing is probably the main reason why he gets picked to accompany Crowley on his trip to New York, to Liberty Executive Solutions’ offices. He spends the next hour or so preparing with Cesar and Crowley for the conversation they’re going to have with the board of partners at the firm they’ve been collaborating with. He worries about the flying part of the trip a bit — but he thinks it will be good for him to stop thinking about the accident and everything else that’s going bad in his life right now.

They drive to the airport the next afternoon. Dean fidgets in the backseat of the car, Crowley right next to him, and his boss must notice his behaviour, because he opens his mouth and starts talking. Most of the time, Dean feels like punching him right in the face — until Crowley asks, all innocent, “So, are you excited to see those old faces again, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean shoots him a confused glance. “Uh, no? There’ll be no familiar faces, from what I know. We’re talking with the board of partners, aren’t we?”

Crowley smirks. “Yes, you’re absolutely right.”

Dean frowns. “I don’t really know any of their partners, then.”

“I think you do,” Crowley says smugly. “Remember our old consultant friend, Mr. Novak? He’s been promoted recently, and he’s now sitting in the partner board we’re going to see tomorrow morning.”

Dean’s stomach flops. He looks away, hiding his face from Crowley. “Oh,” he manages. “I didn’t know that.”

“No?” Crowley counters. “Hm, that’s curious. Don’t know why, but I got the feeling you really hit it off with Mr. Novak back when he was here, you know? I must have been wrong, after all.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, distracted. He’s looking out the car window, but he’s not seeing anything, too busy trying not to freak out about seeing Cas again. “Must have.”

Suddenly, the plane ride seems like the least nerve-wracking part of the trip ahead.

***

They spend the night at the hotel, wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to go over their notes one more time, and then head down to Liberty’s office for the meeting. Crowley keeps shooting strange looks at Dean, as if he’s worried Dean might call everything off and just bolt. 

Dean doesn’t say it out loud, but the thought has crossed his mind a few times. Especially at night, as he lay in bed, unable to sleep, thinking of every possible scenario that could happen during the meeting. He’s already changed his tactics countless times. Should he ignore Castiel completely, do his duty to his company, and go back to Nevada without another look at him? Or maybe it would be better if he could turn the entire situation into a joke — _fancy seeing you again, mister, do you come here often?_ — and then behave as if nothing serious ever happened between them? He knows very well what he wants to do, but he’s very careful about not imagining that particular scenario at all.

It can’t end well. It just can’t.

The trip to the office in which the meeting is supposed to take place seems to be taking forever. They have to sign a few forms, get their guest passes, then spend eternity waiting for the elevator to take them up to the office in question. Crowley looks smug and confident as he walks the fancy corridors, but Dean has never felt more out of place. He’s wearing his best suit, and he knows he looks good in it — but he’s also sure every person they meet on their way can see straight through him. They all must know he’s not one of them — he’s just a miner, even if he pretends to be like them for a moment.

But then they’re being ushered into one of the rooms and introduced to the entire board — and he’s there, too.

Dean notices Castiel, sitting right there, among the other important-looking people, lordly and handsome in yet another well-fitted suit, his blue tie slightly askew, as if he’s been playing with it just seconds before — but Dean knows he hasn’t, because Castiel has no reason to be nervous, unlike Dean — and when their eyes meet, Cas’ expression doesn’t even change. It’s polite and stone-cold, and he barely even nods in Dean’s direction.

“Welcome to Liberty Executive Solutions,” one of the other partners says, but Dean barely hears him. He feels dizzy and needs to breathe in and out discreetly, afraid the entire room is going to know exactly what he’s thinking just by looking at his face.

And the worst part is — this is not what he’s been preparing to feel. 

He thought he would feel anger. He _should_ feel angry and annoyed — Castiel is just sitting there, looking like he belongs, barely glancing at Dean. It’s like he knows he’s better, like he knows Dean doesn’t fit into his life, would never fit into it, no matter what he did.

He thought he would feel physical longing. Cas looks perfect, just like he always does. Broad-shouldered, insanely attractive, his eyes even bluer and hair messier that what Dean remembers. Dean stares at his lips, notices his hands, his long fingers, and expects to feel hot all over… and he doesn’t. He still finds Cas hot as a sin, and yet his first instinct isn’t to grab Cas by the lapels of his suit and bend him over the table.

Dean looks at him and wants to smile. He wants to grin, to laugh out loud, jump over to him, and put his hands on him — but only to hug him. He wants to be happy to see him, and he wants Cas to be happy to see him, because he realizes he’s missed the son of a bitch and that there’s nothing he should be worried about. Dean likes Cas like crazy…

...and it crushes him to see Cas barely react to him.

They shake hands, and Dean does everything he can to try to act normal. He meets Cas’ eyes and smiles politely.

“Good to see you again, Dean,” Cas says.

Damn, but Dean missed his voice.

“And you, Mr. Novak. Congratulations on the promotion,” he says quickly, praying his own voice doesn’t shake.

The meeting starts soon afterwards, but Dean still feels a little lightheaded. He can’t stop the look of surprise that passes over his face when Cas interrupts his colleagues for the first time, asking about Max. Dean schools his features quickly, looking down at the table while the others talk. Of course Castiel would ask about Max. He might not feel anything for Dean, but he’s a good person. Dean should remember that.

He’s not sure how he manages to last through the entire meeting. When they finally reach the subject of the accident, Dean hears himself talk, sounding irritated and demanding, but he feels as if he barely has any control over what he’s actually saying. He’s gone over his notes so many times with Crowley, he’s just acting instinctively by now. Fortunately, the partners doesn’t seem too opposed to what they have to say — and Castiel actually plays a big role in that, being the only one that pushes his colleagues to do the right thing. Dean can’t help but sneak glances at Cas every time he says something in defense of the mining company — but then has to quickly look down, too afraid Cas will see what Dean really feels in his eyes.

Crowley ends the meeting soon enough, and Dean feels himself deflate. He watches as everyone except for Castiel leaves the room in search of lunch, then looks back at Cas. Their eyes meet, Dean huffs a nervous laugh, and looks down again.

“Man, that Zachariah guy is a dick. I get why you hung up on him now. You sure you want to be working with him all the time?” he babbles. The tension in the room has shifted from work-related to… whatever it is that’s between them, and Dean isn’t sure how to deal with that. He does what he’s best at, instead, and resorts to joking.

But then, Castiel answers, voice clipped, “I’m sure.”

Dean looks up at him, careful. “Wanna go grab some lunch? You can tell me all about the glamorous corner office life,” he risks. 

It’s the wrong thing to joke about, he realizes, noticing the immediate change in Castiel’s posture. He stiffens and stands up, too busy gathering the documents in front of him to even meet Dean’s eyes. 

“No, thank you. Glamorous it may be, but the corner office life, as you so charmingly put it, doesn’t leave a lot of room for _fun_ ,” he says coldly.

Then, he leaves the room.

Dean swears under his breath. What the hell? So now they can’t even talk like normal human beings? Are they supposed to behave like silly fifteen-year-old high school girls, just because they haven’t seen each other for some time?

Fuck that. For once, Dean is mature enough to act differently. 

They were friends, weren’t they? That’s what they said. Friends. Yes, they also had sex, but Dean legitimately enjoyed spending time with Cas, and he’s definitely not okay with Cas treating him like nothing just because he’s all important now.

There’s also the matter of the quiet guilt that’s been eating at him since Cas left — the feeling that he was the one responsible for ruining everything. He could have done things differently on that last day — he could have said more than ‘fun.’

He didn’t, not back then, but the past is the past. He’s here now.

Which is why he leaves the room and catches up with Cas in the corridor.

“Hey, wait,” he says. 

Cas could ignore him and leave, and Dean would let it go, but he just can’t believe Cas has changed so much in such a short amount of time. And he’s right — upon hearing him, Castiel stops and lets out a quiet sigh.

He turns to Dean. “I actually meant it, Dean,” he says. “I really do have to go back to work now.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, stopping right in front of him. He notices Castiel meets his eyes and doesn’t seem to be quite so cold and distant anymore. “I understand. But you do get to have lunch, don’t you?”

Castiel seems hesitant for a moment. “I do, yes. Aren’t you… I thought you were going back soon. I only get a break later in the afternoon.”

Dean sends him the smallest of smiles. “Yeah, no. My flight’s tomorrow morning. We’re staying one more night at the hotel, but I don’t have to be at the meeting tomorrow afternoon, just Crowley and your people.”

Castiel meets his eyes, then looks away again. “Ah, I see.”

“Which means I have the entire day for myself,” Dean says. “And I’ve never been to New York. I have no idea where to go for lunch.” Cas glances at him again, and Dean feels himself smirk. “If only I knew someone here to show me around…”

Cas huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, and Dean’s heart seems to leap out of his chest at the sight of that. He grins and cocks his head at Cas. 

“Meet me downstairs at two,” Cas says, exasperated.

Dean still counts it as a win.

***

Cas takes him to a small cafe near the office. It’s past the usual lunch time around here, Dean guesses, because it’s almost empty when they get there, which means they can choose an isolated table by the window on the other side of the cafe and remain unbothered for the entire time.

Dean watches as Cas sips his latte and tries really hard not to comment on that — he’s still not sure how they’re supposed to behave around each other — but Cas must notice his struggle because he looks at him and raises his eyebrows.

“Nothing,” Dean says, shaking his head.

“No, tell me,” Cas insists. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

_Because I haven’t seen you for a month and I missed your stupid face._

“Because you’re drinking milk,” Dean says.

Cas levels him with a look. “It’s called a latte, don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

“Oh yeah, I know that,” Dean says. “I’ve just never seen you drink one before.”

“I’ve already had four black coffees today, I simply assumed it would be better for me to drink something lighter.”

Dean frowns. “Is being a partner that exhausting?” he asks.

“No, it’s just…” Castiel stops and shakes his head. “I guess it’s been a long day.”

“And it’s barely two thirty,” Dean jokes. Cas just looks at him. “But, uh, I know what you mean. Everyone looks so tense around here. I kind of want to shake them and say ‘Hey man, chill, it’s just work.’”

Castiel shrugs. “You know all too well it wouldn’t help.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Dean sighs. “But still.”

He struggles to find something else to say, and then simply drops the subject altogether and busies himself with his sandwich. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him, but everytime he looks up, Cas seems to be staring at the table in front of him. 

“So, uh.” Dean clears his throat. _You’re just friends having lunch_ , he reminds himself. _Stop freaking out_. “Do you like your new job?”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Castiel says slowly. “But I’ve been working towards it for years, so…”

He doesn’t finish. Dean realizes he didn't even answer Dean’s question, but he decides not to comment on that. 

“How’s Max?” Cas asks after yet another moment of silence. “Is he really going to be okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Dean says. He rubs the side of his face. “Listen, let’s not talk about work, okay? You’ve just admitted you’re too stressed as it is,” he adds with an awkward smile.

Cas stares at him. “I didn't say I was stressed.”

“You seem stressed,” Dean points out.

“That’s because of—” Cas closes his mouth. He looks down. “Nevermind.”

Dean gets a feeling he knows what Cas wanted to say. He clears his throat and lets out yet another tense laugh.

“Jesus, this is stupid,” he mutters.

“Sorry?” Cas asks, looking up.

Dean allows himself to stare into Cas’ blue gaze for a beat too long. “Nothing,” he murmurs. “Uh. I mean, actually… Did you know you left your jacket back at my— back in Nevada?” he asks quickly.

Cas doesn’t look away. “Oh,” he says. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Uhm.” Dean fidgets nervously. “I don’t have it with me. I actually didn’t know I would be meeting you again until I was on my way to the airport. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Cas says quietly. Dean would give anything to be able to read his mind right in that moment. “Maybe we can arrange for you to send it to me. Once you go back home, I mean.”

Dean nods, but doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid he’s going to blurt out something he doesn’t want out in the open.

“How’s the rest of your team?” Dean asks instead. “I mean, your old team, I guess. I mean, Balthazar and Meg and Hannah?”

He’s not sure, but he thinks he can see a hint of pleased surprise on Cas’ face when he hears Dean remembers his friends’ names. He doesn’t mention it, though.

“They’re all right,” he says with a soft smile. Dean feels himself smiling back. “They’re really supportive.”

“That’s good,” Dean says. “I’m glad.”

“How’s your team? And how’s Sam?” Cas asks.

He sounds so genuinely curious that Dean can feel his heart grow three sizes just hearing him talk about them. He happily delves into the conversation about his friends and his brother, and soon realizes Castiel doesn’t only _seem_ to care about them — he actually does, and he’s very interested in hearing what Dean has to say about them.

It makes something sweet and painful tug at his heart, and he wants to reach out and touch Cas’ hand, thread their fingers together, pull him closer and keep him there for a moment. He smiles at the mere thought, and Castiel, who sees him smiling, smiles back — so warm and friendly and beautiful.

Dean doesn’t touch him, but he makes sure to brush against him when they’re getting ready to leave. He tentatively puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder when they’re walking out of the cafe, and can feel his heart stop in his chest when Cas doesn’t move away, just sends him an intense look and thanks him for lunch.

Dean walks Cas back to his company’s building, and when they stop at the revolving door, Cas turns and looks at Dean with a serious expression on his handsome face.

“Dean,” he says tentatively. 

Dean’s breath hitches at the sound of his name. “Yeah, Cas?” he asks, inching just a tiny bit closer. 

He thinks he can see Cas shiver minutely, but neither of them looks away. 

“I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to meet one more time tonight,” Cas says quickly, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud. “Just to get a drink and catch up. You could tell me more about Sam and Max and everyone.”

Dean doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sure, that sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” Cas asks. His eyes look so blue in the sun. Dean thinks he could drown in them if he weren’t careful enough. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Dean says with a smile. 

“Just one drink,” Cas assures. “Nothing more, I swear. I know you have a flight to catch tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Dean nods.

“Does seven sound okay? I could pick you up at your hotel?”

Dean tries to hide how absolutely thrilled he is to hear Cas say those words. He wants to scream and dance and grab Cas and kiss him senseless. Instead, he nods slowly and says. “Sounds great, sure.”

“Okay,” Cas says.

“Okay.” Dean meets Cas’ eyes. Neither of them moves, and Dean imagines himself leaning in and just hugging him — like any friend would. He can almost sense how good Cas would feel in his arms, so strong and yet so warm and pliant. 

It’s so obvious, all of a sudden. It’s obvious how much Dean likes spending time with Cas, and it’s obvious how much Cas likes it, too. Dean is afraid of complicating it with unnecessary touches and feelings. They’re great at being friends — maybe this is what they should stay. If this is all Cas can offer him, Dean’s going to take it. Cas means way too much to him to risk ruining that again.

With that in mind, he smiles, waves, and walks away towards his hotel.

***

Being _just friends_ with Cas isn’t that easy when they’re sitting really close to each other and Cas’ knee is touching Dean’s underneath the counter, Dean realizes.

They’re in a bar, and it’s loud and crowded, so they need to lean in really close to be able to talk. Cas smells heavenly, as if he just got fresh from the shower, and his eyes are electric blue in the neon lights hanging above the counter. Everytime Cas shifts, his leg brushes against Dean’s, and neither of them is doing anything about it.

They’ve both had only two drinks, and yet, it seems, two drinks were enough for Dean to lose all sense of control. They’re not doing anything, not really, and they’re not even talking about anything that could lead to them _doing something_ , and yet Dean finds himself growing more and more frustrated. He’s having fun, lots of it, but he just… 

He wants more. So much more. 

He’s not going to take it, though, not before Cas says he wants it, too. They’re not at the mine anymore. Now they’re just friends, and friends don’t go for a quickie in a bathroom, no matter how much they want it.

Dean tries to clear his head and concentrate on what Cas is saying, but it’s not that easy, not when Cas puts his arm around Dean’s chair as he talks without as much as a blink.

Dean gulps, then slowly leans back, so that Cas’ arm touches his back.

Cas doesn’t move.

“But that’s Balthazar,” Cas is saying. He’s smiling, the skin around his eyes crinkled adorably, dark hair mussed from how he keeps running his hand through it. Dean yearns to reach out and touch it. “You know how he is.”

“Mhm-mm,” Dean says. Cas’ arm stays in its place even when Dean leans more heavily into it. 

“But anyway,” Cas mutters. “Enough about Balthazar.”

“Your hair got longer,” Dean says quietly.

Cas stares at him. Then he leans forward. “Sorry? I didn’t hear you through all this noise.”

Dean almost shivers, hearing Cas’ voice so close, feeling Cas’ arm still brush against him. He ducks his head, but doesn’t move away.

“Nothing, nothing,” he murmurs. 

“Okay,” Cas breathes out.

He drops his arm from Dean’s chair and straightens out. Dean almost screams out in protest, but catches himself in the last second.

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean looks up at him. Cas reaches out and brushes his hand, oh so casually, against Dean’s bicep. Dean’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Sorry,” Cas murmurs. “You had something on your shirt.”

“Thanks,” Dean manages.

“It’s nothing,” Cas says. He moves so that his knee isn’t touching Dean’s anymore. Dean reaches for his drink and finishes it. Then he looks back at Cas.

“So listen, I think I should get back to the hotel,” he says. “Early flight and all that.”

“Of course,” Cas says. “I start work early tomorrow, I should get some sleep as well.”

“Yeah.” Dean stands up and doesn’t look at Cas when they gather their things and head towards the exit. They have to weave through the crowd of people and Cas ends up having to guide Dean to the door, his hand feather-light on the small of Dean’s back — and yet still making him crazy with the desire to touch.

When they finally reach the exit, Cas goes through the door first. Dean follows him quickly, but his foot catches on the high threshold and he feels himself falling down—

—until strong hands catch him before he can hit the ground.

“Dean,” Cas gasps, pulling him up. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks and realizes he’s now standing face to face with an alarmed-looking Castiel, who has both his hands on Dean’s waist. Dean’s own hands are gripping Cas’ arms and pulling him in.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I think so.”

One of Cas’ hands slides down to Dean’s hip. Dean watches Cas’ face from up close, notices the way Cas’ eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he whispers and, before he can stop himself, looks down at Cas’ lips.

“I agree,” Cas murmurs. His fingers tighten on Dean’s hip.

Dean gulps. He wants to say something, wants to ask if Cas is sure — but then he meets his eyes one more time and sees all the answers he needs. Instead of saying anything, he simply grips Cas’ arms tighter, pushes him forward until Cas’ back meets the wall, and leans in.

And then, he kisses him.


	16. Chapter 16

This is a bad idea, Castiel knows.

Not kissing Dean. Kissing Dean is a very good idea. But continuing to kiss him without addressing all the things they’ve still left unsaid...that’s a bad idea.

So with great reluctance, he pulls away. He’s still close enough to see the way Dean’s face falls, the way he visibly gathers himself, tensing for a blow. Castiel keeps one hand on his hip, not letting him pull too far away, and then exhales shakily.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, not meeting his eyes. “I shouldn’t have-- I’m sorry, Cas.”

“I’m not,” Castiel replies steadily. “Dean. Look at me.”

Dean finally meets his gaze, and there’s so much yearning in his eyes that Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. “We need to talk about this,” he says softly. “I’d be quite happy to continue kissing you right until you have to leave for the airport tomorrow, but I think we both know we’re long overdue for a conversation.”

A rueful smile plays around Dean’s lips. Lips that were just seconds ago pressed against Castiel’s. Such a strange sequence of events. “You’re probably right,” he agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“Come home with me,” Castiel interjects. “Not like that,” he hurries to clarify as Dean’s eyes go wide and then dark in the span of a few seconds. “Just...to talk.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks. He seems shy, suddenly, hesitant in a way he wasn’t before. 

“I think we both deserve it,” Castiel responds, shrugging. “Whatever it might be.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs. “Yeah, we do.”

He holds out his hand, and Castiel takes it. His palm feels exactly as he remembers it: warm, slightly callused, and perfectly matched to his own. He tightens his grip and uses his free hand to hail them a cab.

They don’t say anything on the short ride back to Castiel’s apartment. The things they need to discuss shouldn’t be aired in public. Instead, they sneak shy glances at each other as the radio plays some inane pop song, and Castiel is charmed to see Dean mouthing along to the words. Dean catches him looking and grins, but doesn’t stop. Castiel wouldn’t want him to. He wants to see Dean like this, happy and relaxed and goofy. Wants to know what other endearing habits Dean has.

Arriving at Castiel’s apartment building, he pays the cabbie and leaves a hefty tip, then guides Dean through the doors. “Nice place,” Dean comments, looking around. 

“I suppose so,” Castiel replies. He doesn’t find it a particularly interesting topic of conversation at the moment. All he cares about is having some privacy, some space to air all their grievances and all the hurt that has built up between them. 

He’s glad now that he accepted Dean’s request for lunch earlier in the day. At the time, he almost said no, almost closed the door between them forever. But he’d been unable to resist the pleading in Dean’s eyes, the genuine warmth with which he’d made the offer. And over the course of that hour in the little cafe, he was reminded of all the reasons he fell for Dean in the first place: his concern for others, his humour, his steadfast loyalty. Reminded enough that he then invited Dean out for the drink that became two, and led them here.

He can’t find it in himself to regret anything that has happened between them, whether here in New York or back in Nevada.

“Would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, tea?” he asks as he ushers Dean into his apartment, flicking on the lights as he does. 

“I think it’s a bit late for coffee,” Dean replies, glancing own at his watch. “But tea might be nice.”

Smiling to himself as he fills the kettle and turns it on, Castiel motions for Dean to take a seat in the living area. His apartment isn’t large, but it’s comfortable, and Dean looks good there. Looks like he belongs. Once the kettle has boiled and he’s poured them each a mug of herbal tea, he curls into the armchair across from Dean and meets his steady gaze.

“So,” he says.

“So,” Dean echoes.

Where to even begin? Castiel takes a sip of his tea, though it’s still uncomfortably hot, and considers his options. 

“I didn’t know you were coming with Crowley,” he says eventually. “It was a complete surprise when you walked into the conference room this morning.”

“A good surprise or a bad one?” Dean asks. “Actually, on second thought, maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Both, honestly.” Castiel looks up and gives him a rueful shrug. “I was happy to see you, of course, but...I wished that wasn’t the first time we spoke to each other since I left.”

Dean winces, and drums his fingers against the side of the couch. “I should have called you as soon as you left,” he admits quietly. “But I’m not good with words, Cas, I never have been--”

“That’s not an excuse,” Castiel says. It’s harsher than he intended, but he needs Dean to know. Needs him to understand how much his silence hurt him, how much confusion it caused.

His face goes pale even in the low light of the room, but Dean doesn’t deny it. “You’re right,” he says. “I fucked up. I didn’t mean it, okay? It wasn’t just fun for me.”

How long has Castiel waited to hear Dean say just that? It should feel like a victory, but there’s still something reserved in Dean’s voice, an indication that he’s still holding back. And Castiel won’t stand for it. He needs all or nothing.

“Tell me now,” he challenges, raising his eyes to meet Dean’s. “If there’s another word, or another statement, or a different goodbye you wish you had said instead.”

“Cas--”

“I’m giving you a second chance. Giving…” he licks his lips, gathering his courage. “Giving us a second chance.”

Dean lets out a long breath and puts his mug down on the table, rubbing his hands over his thighs. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

And then he’s sitting up on the couch, looking Castiel straight in the eyes. “I’m not good with fancy speeches,” he says. “I can’t get up in front of a room full of people and hold their attention the way you do. But if I could do it all over, if I could go back in time to when you were about to walk out my door-- I’d ask you to text me when you land. I’d send you a picture of the jacket and tie you left behind, the ones that have been driving me crazy every time I see them, and tell you you should come back to get them as soon as possible. I’d tell you--” he pauses, swallows roughly-- “I’d tell you those six weeks were perfect, even when we were fighting. Maybe especially then. And I’d tell you I didn’t want it to be over. I still don’t.”

Castiel can’t do anything but stare at him. In all his wildest dreams, he never could have come up with that speech. “I--” he shakes his head, speechless. 

But Dean isn’t finished. “I never told you how I felt, because I knew you were leaving. Because I knew it could never last. I’m just a guy with dirty hands and a set of coveralls, and you’re--” he gestures at the room around them. “You’re here, and I’m there, and I thought, okay, fine, I’ll take what I can get, I’ll play pretend for as long as I can.” He pauses, and for the first time, Castiel sees his own hurt reflected in Dean’s eyes. “And you never gave me any sign you wanted anything more from me, either.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to flinch. “I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m sorry for that, Dean, I truly am. I thought--” he laughs bitterly. “I thought I could keep myself detached. Like I had some sort of control over the way I felt. And you were so confusing, taking me out to the desert to look at the stars like some goddamn Nicholas Sparks movie--”

“Hey,” Dean interjects, “low blow.”

“It was incredibly sappy and you know it,” Castiel shoots back. “But I loved it. Of course I did. I just didn’t know what it meant, and I was scared to even think it meant anything at all. And then when you said it was fun--”

“It was like I was confirming all your suspicions,” Dean concludes. “God, I’m such an asshole.”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Well, not the asshole part. Okay, maybe a bit.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, but there’s no heat in it. Instead, there’s a pleased smile curled in the corner of his mouth. “You love it.”

“I do,” Castiel agrees. “It’s awful and I can’t control it and I was so angry with you, Dean, I was furious at the silent treatment, but I was also mad at myself for not speaking up earlier, for being too afraid of getting hurt to take a risk--”

“Hey.” Dean slides off the couch and comes to perch on the arm of Castiel’s chair, placing a tentative arm around his shoulders. “We both fucked up, okay?”

It would be so easy, to give in. To let himself fall into Dean’s embrace and forget about everything else. But that wouldn’t solve anything for them, would only put them back exactly where things went wrong before.

“You’re right,” he says. He has to hold himself to the same standard of honesty he’s expecting from Dean, or nothing will ever be fair between them. “Looking back at it now, I had so many chances to do things differently, to be more direct with you. That first night we--” he makes a vague gesture, strangely unable to find the right words for the first time he learned how good it felt to be inside Dean-- “I think that’s when I knew. That it was more.”

Judging by the little lopsided smile on his face, Dean knows exactly what night Castiel is referring to. “I thought you freaked out because I got too clingy, too emotional.”

“And I thought I got too intense and it put too much pressure on you,” Castiel sighs. 

“God, no.” Dean shakes his head in vehement denial. “Cas, that night was…”

“Almost as good as the last night we spent together,” Castiel finishes. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” Dean rubs a hand over his face, exhaling loudly. “You know, I had this friend, Jody, back in Sioux Falls when I was younger. She was somewhere between an older sister and a mom to me at the time. And she used to say to me, if you can’t talk about sex, you shouldn’t be having it. I think I’m finally starting to get that.”

“Dean, practically the entire world would be going without sex if that were the case,” Castiel points out.

It draws a laugh from him, at least. “True,” he says. “But that’s the problem we had, isn’t it? Thinking that letting our bodies do the talking would be enough. And don’t get me wrong, it was hot as fuck and I wouldn’t take any of it back, but--”

“But talking would have helped.” Castiel shrugs. “Well, we’re talking now.”

“Yeah. And it feels pretty good,” Dean laughs. “Maybe not as good as that thing you do with your tongue--”

Castiel pushes at his hip and Dean nearly falls off the arm of the chair, but he’s grinning brightly at him even as he rights himself, and it’s that look, the mischief in his eyes, that finally breaks down the last barrier Castiel has built up around his heart. He reaches out again, but this time he pulls Dean toward himself, watching as his eyes go wide in surprise as he topples into the chair beside Castiel, half on top of him. 

This close, he can see the dusting of freckles across Dean’s cheeks, the flecks of gold in his green eyes. He can see the way Dean’s throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips part almost instinctively, and then curl into a smile.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs, soft and sweet. 

“Hello,” Castiel responds. He reaches out and traces one finger lightly over the line of Dean’s jaw and watches as he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Dean catches his hand and cradles it against his face, eyes earnest. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“I’m sorry too,” Castiel whispers. 

“Well,” Dean says after a long pause, “now that we’ve cleared the air about our past, what the hell are we going to do about our future?”

He’s putting on a brave face, Castiel knows, but there’s genuine worry in his eyes. “What do you want to do?” he counters.

Whatever Dean is about to say is interrupted by his yawn. He brings their joined hands up to cover his mouth, then laughs softly at himself. “Looks like my body wants sleep.”

“Perfect.” Nodding decisively, Castiel draws them to their feet. “Because I want you to stay.”

Dean pauses, lower lip caught between his teeth. “For the night, or…”

“For the night is a good place to begin. After that--” Castiel shrugs. “You have a job in Nevada. I have a job here. It’s not going to be easy, I know, but--”

“It’s going to be worth it,” Dean interrupts. “I think we both already know that.”

“Then come to bed,” Castiel says, voice low, “and we’ll deal with the rest later.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice is rough, but his eyes are adoring. “Okay.”

They get undressed for bed in comfortable silence, and while Castiel takes a moment to admire the sight of Dean shirtless in his bedroom, all he can think about is how much he wants to feel that broad chest pressed against him, those arms wrapped securely around him. Dean seems to feel the same way, because the minute Castiel crawls into bed beside him and flicks off the lamp, he’s scooting closer, burrowing into Castiel’s side and resting his head against his chest like it’s a pillow. 

Gently, almost reverentially, Castiel strokes a light hand over Dean’s back, feeling him arch up into the touch like a cat. Dean sighs and adjusts his position slightly, pressing the faintest of kisses into Castiel’s shoulder as he does. “Night, Cas,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel whispers. 

They still have a lot to talk about, he knows. But they’ve done enough emotional heavy lifting for one night, certainly enough to get them to a place they can move forward from. Move forward _together_ , most importantly. 

***

His alarm goes off at six o’clock the next morning, like it always does. Castiel grumbles and reaches out to shut it off, like he always does.

But the answering grumble from the body in bed beside him is new.

“Early,” is all he can decipher. Dean is still pressed tightly against him, his skin warm and inviting, and he rubs his face against Castiel’s chest, the hint of stubble on his cheeks causing a shiver of pleasure to run through Castiel’s body.

“I know,” he murmurs, “but you have a flight to catch.”

“Not until noon,” Dean says without opening his eyes. “Stay.”

How could Castiel possibly refuse? He sighs and sets another alarm for half an hour later. He can skip his morning yoga routine, just this once. 

But now that Dean is awake, it seems he has other ideas. He nuzzles forward and begins laying small kisses all along the top of Castiel’s shoulder, working inwards towards his neck. Castiel laughs, but it soon turns into a moan as Dean’s teeth graze lightly over the side of his neck.

“Dean,” he murmurs, his head lolling to the side to grant him better access. “God.”

Dean pulls away, peering down into Castiel’s face. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

“More than okay,” Castiel assures him, and pulls him down into a kiss.

Soon enough, they’re pressed together from head to toe, Dean’s arms braced on either side of Castiel’s head as their kiss deepens. He can’t believe he went so long without this. Without Dean’s lips pressed so perfectly against his own, without the weight of his body hovering above his own, without the taste of him on his tongue. 

He needs more.

Slowly, his hands creep down Dean’s back, tracing over the muscles earned from years of physical labour. Dean’s breath catches and his lips fall away, just for a moment, before he presses them back against Castiel’s. When Castiel’s hands reach the curve of his ass and linger there, teasingly, Dean whines against his mouth and bucks forward into his touch. 

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Please, Cas.”

Castiel runs his fingers gently across the skin of Dean’s lower back as he slides Dean’s boxers off and tosses them aside. He can feel the hard length of Dean’s erection pressing insistently against his hip, and he shifts slightly so it catches against the silk of his own boxers, knowing how good it will feel on Dean’s sensitive skin. 

Rocking forward to chase the sensation, Dean’s lips fall away from Castiel’s again, but he can’t complain, not when they’re trailing down the line of his neck and over the top of his chest. Dean’s mouth closes over one nipple and it’s Castiel’s turn to whine, a high-pitched noise of pure need that has Dean laughing breathlessly as he repeats the motion on the other side.

“I missed you so much,” Dean says, placing a kiss to the very centre of Castiel’s chest. “Christ, Cas, you’re so--”

Whatever he was going to say next is lost as he continues to kiss his way down Castiel’s torso, making the muscles in his stomach jump as he traces over their faint outline with his tongue. Castiel sighs shakily and twines his hands in Dean’s hair as he rubs his face tantalizing close to the bulge of his erection.

“Let’s get these off,” Dean whispers, pulling Castiel’s boxers down his legs. He lays kisses over Castiel’s thighs as he moves back up towards his centre, his intent clear, but it’s not what Castiel wants. 

“Come up here,” he insists, and Dean surges up to meet him gladly, their mouths meeting in a kiss that starts sweet but quickly turns filthy.

All the pretense, all the poise and practiced moves they used on each other before are gone. All that remains is the passion, the pure want that fuels their actions. Castiel rolls them over before Dean can protest, taking his turn to suck and nibble at the side of his neck, remembering how much it drives him wild.

Judging by the way Dean’s hips buck off the bed, nothing has changed.

That little movement puts their lower bodies in perfect alignment, and Castiel can feel how hard Dean is, the slick sweat building between them helping to ease the friction as they grind together. He’s so close already, the familiar sweetness coiling low in the pit of his stomach, and he wants nothing more than to topple over that edge with Dean, to see his eyes flare wide and hear his breath hiss between his teeth as he comes.

Whatever rhythm they might have established is long lost, their movements now sloppy and uncoordinated. It doesn’t matter. It’s perfect. Castiel drops his forehead down and rests it against Dean’s, their breath mingling in the scant inches between them. Dean reaches up and wraps one hand around Castiel’s wrist where he’s holding himself up, and Castiel shifts his weight onto his other side so he clasp it properly. 

It’s this, out of everything they’ve done, that is Dean’s undoing. He ruts upwards, mouth falling open, and makes the most beautiful noise Castiel has ever heard as he spills over his own stomach. 

Castiel’s own jaw is slack as he looks down between them, his cock sliding smoothly into the mess Dean has made, and Dean won’t stop touching him, running his free hand down Castiel’s back, skating lightly over the curve of his ass.

“Let go, sweetheart,” Dean urges, his voice low and warm in Castiel’s ear. “Come on.”

Castiel shudders fiercely and lets his orgasm crash over him, slumping forward into Dean’s welcoming arms. They lie there together as their heartbeats return to normal, trading occasional kisses until Castiel sighs and rolls away to glance at the clock.

“We really should get up,” he says. “And now we definitely need a shower.”

Dean groans, but Castiel pushes at his hip until he rolls over, still gloriously naked, and swings his legs off the bed. “I can miss my flight,” he offers.

“I have to go to work,” Castiel reminds him. “And no, I’m not bringing you to the office for a quickie in the janitor’s closet.”

“Oh come on,” Dean pleads, eyes twinkling, “for old times’ sake.”

“Shower,” Castiel tells him firmly. “If we go now, we have time to get a little bit handsy.”

“There are the magic words I’ve been waiting for.” With a laugh, Dean stands and heads for the bathroom, dragging Castiel along behind him. 

‘A little bit handsy’ turns into an intense makeout session as the water pours over them, Castiel’s back leaving an outline in the steam collecting on the glass door of his shower as Dean presses him against it. Twenty minutes later, they tumble out together, and Castiel throws a towel at Dean’s face, which he catches neatly before wrapping it around his hips.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” he asks as they get dressed. “More power suits, lunches on expense accounts, the usual?”

“It sounds so soulless when you put it like that,” Castiel sighs, debating between the blue-striped tie or the blue-checked one. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean responds immediately, taking the striped tie from Castiel’s hands and beginning to lace it around his neck. His fingers brush against the exposed skin of Castiel’s throat as he loops the tie around itself, the intimacy of the act bringing a faint flush to Castiel’s cheeks.

He clears his throat and looks away. “I know,” he murmurs. “But you’re not saying anything I haven’t thought myself, especially these last few weeks.”

“Big promotion not all it was promised to be?” Dean asks shrewdly. He finishes tying the tie and arranges it over Castiel’s shirt, then drops a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Something like that.” With a sigh, Castiel runs his hands through his hair, attempting to tame it. “I miss my team, and I miss travelling, and--”

“Hey.” Dean catches his hands and clasps them between his own. “Breathe.”

Letting loose a shaky exhale, Castiel slumps forward and into Dean’s ready embrace. “I hate it,” he confesses, hiding his words in Dean’s chest. “I worked for this for so long, and I thought it’d make me happy, make me feel accomplished, but I’m starting to wonder if I ever wanted it for itself, or just because I thought I had something to prove--”

He feels more than he hears the rumble of laughter from Dean, and draws back to frown at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Dean assures him, “just that I’ve been having some similar thoughts myself, lately.”

“About your job?”

“Yeah.” A wistful look crosses over Dean’s face. “Had a talk with Sam a little while ago. About a lot of things. But the job was one of them, and I can’t stop thinking about it, especially after this whole thing with Max…”

Castiel winces. “That must have been difficult for you,” he says softly. “I wish I could have been there.”

“You’re here now.” Dean steps closer again, hesitant. “But I’m not going to be, not for much longer.”

Castiel can hear the question in his statement. “I know,” he replies. “But when you leave, I’m going to ask you to text me as soon as you land. And I’m going to send you a picture of my lunch, which will probably be charged to an expense account. And when I finish work, I’m going to call you, and tell you that this day and a half have been perfect, and that I can’t wait until the next time we can figure out a way to be in the same place.”

The smile that spreads across Dean’s face is one Castiel has only seen a few times before, and he’s certain he’s never seen Dean’s eyes look quite that shade of green. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” It’s a promise. One that Castiel intends to keep. “I know we went about this all the wrong way, but this can be something good. Something good for both of us.”

“We’ve still never even been on a real date,” Dean points out, but he’s still smiling.

“This is true.” Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing Friday night?”

Dean blinks at him. “Friday?” he repeats. “I don’t think I have--” his eyes widen as Castiel’s meaning becomes clear. “Really?”

“I can get a flight right after work,” Castiel says. “The time difference works in our favour. You can pick me up from the airport, we’ll go for a drive, maybe look at the stars…”

“Thought you didn’t like that Nicholas Sparks crap,” Dean says, but he’s biting his lip in barely concealed excitement. 

“I do. I did.” Dean still hasn’t agreed, and for a brief moment, all of Castiel’s past insecurities come rushing back, making him wonder if this is too much too soon, if Dean still needs space to breathe, space to decide how he wants this relationship to work. 

But then--”It’s a date,” Dean says, nodding firmly. “Send me your flight info as soon as you book it, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel says, still a bit dazed from the speed at which this is all happening. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting out the door?” Dean asks, glancing down at his phone.

“Probably,” Castiel agrees. “I find myself strangely reluctant to go into the office, though.”

“Not so strangely. But hey.” Dean folds Castiel back into his arms. “Two more days, then you’re going to come see me. And we’re going to figure all of this out. In between all the sex, of course.”

“Of course.” It sounds perfect, honestly. He’s spent weeks without even a word from Dean. He can manage two more days apart, especially if they’re in communication the whole time. 

So they head down to the lobby of Castiel’s building, and Dean hails a cab to take him back to his hotel so he can pick up his bags before heading to the airport. Just before he climbs into the car, he reels Castiel in for a kiss that leaves his head spinning.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. 

And Castiel smiles and cups his face between his hands. “Text me when you land.”

They don’t say the word _goodbye_. It’s taken them a long time to get to this point, where they’re actually communicating, and they’ve both come to appreciate how much their words matter, how much power they have. And so this is what they’re choosing: an ellipsis, not a period. See you soon, not goodbye.

A future as vast and open as the Nevada desert, and possibilities as endless in the stars in the Nevada sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading the story fondly known as Minefest! We had so much fun writing this (oh the stories we could tell about misadventures in first time co-writing) and we really hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> \--superhoney and teacass (aka superass)


End file.
